'  JV 


THE  SECRET 
OF  THE  TOWER 


.  OP  CALIF.   LIBRARY,   LOS  ANGELS* 


THE  SECRET 
OF  THE  TOWER 


BY  I 

ANTHONY  HOPE      t"S ^  «i 

AUTHOR      "  "  THE  PRISONER  OF  ZBNDA."   "  BUPEKT  OF  HENTZATJ."  ETC. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  1919 


COPYRIGHT,  1919,  BY 

ANTHONY  HOPE  HAWKINS 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


CONTENTS 

FAGX 

I.  DOCTOB  MABY'S  PAYING  GUEST 1 

n.  THE  GENFBAL  REMEMBERS 16 

III.  MB.  SAFFBON  AT  HOME 38 

IV.  PBOFESSIONAL  ETIQUETTE 48 

V.  A  FAMILJAB  IMPLEMENT 65 

VI.  ODD  STOBT  OF  CAPTAIN  DUGGLE!    ......  81 

VII.  A  GENTLEMANLY  STBANGEB 99 

VIII.  CAPTAIN  ALEC  RAISES  HIS  VOICE           ....  117 
rf 

IX.  DOCTOB  MABY'S  ULTIMATUM 134 

X.  THAT  MAGICAL  WOBD  MOBOCCO!          .       .       .       .  154 

XI.  THE  CAB  BEHIND  THE  TBEES 173 

XII.  THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWEB 189 

XIII.  RIGHT  OF  CONQUEST          204 

XIV.  THE  SCEPTEB  IN  THE  GBAVE 223 

XV.  A  NOBMAL  CASE 240 

XVI.  DEAD  MAJESTY 258 

XVII.  THE  CHIEF  MOUBNEBS 275 

XVIII.  THE  GOLD  AND  THE  TBEASUBE  292 


2130270 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 


CHAPTER  I 

DOCTOR  MARY'S  PAYING  GUEST 

"JusT  in  time,  wasn't  it?"  asked  Mary  Ark- 
royd. 

"Two  days  before  the — the  ceremony  1  Merci- 
fully it  had  all  been  kept  very  quiet,  because  it 
was  only  three  months  since  poor  Gilly  was 
killed.  I  forget  whether  you  ever  met  Gilly? 
My  half-brother,  you  know?" 

"Only  once — in  Collingham  Gardens.  He 
had  an  exeat,  and  dashed  in  one  Saturday  morn- 
ing when  we  were  just  finishing  our  work. 
Don't  you  remember?" 

"Yes,  I  think  I  do.  But  since  my  engage- 
ment I'd  gone  into  colors.  Oh,  of  course  I've 
gone  back  into  mourning  now  1  And  everything 

1 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

was  ready — settlements  and  so  on,  you  know. 
And  rooms  taken  at  Bournemouth.  And  then 
it  all  came  out!" 

"How?" 

"Well,  Eustace — Captain  Cranster,  I  mean. 
Oh,  I  think  he  really  must  have  had  shell-shock, 
as  he  said,  even  though  the  doctor  seemed  to 
doubt  it  I  He  gave  the  Colonel  as  a  reference  in 
some  shop,  and — and  the  bank  wouldn't  pay  the 
check.  Other  checks  turned  up,  too,  and  in  the 
end  the  police  went  through  his  papers,  and 
found  letters  from — well,  from  her,  you  know. 
From  Bogota.  South  America,  isn't  it?  He'd 
lived  there  ten  years,  you  know,  growing  some- 
thing— beans,  or  coffee,  or  coffee-beans,  or 
something — I  don't  know  what.  He  tried  to 
say  the  marriage  wasn't  binding,  but  the  Colonel 
— wasn't  it  providential  that  the  Colonel  was 
home  on  leave?  Mamma  could  never  have  grap- 
pled with  it!  The  Colonel  was  sure  it  was,  and 
so  were  the  lawyers." 

"What  happened  then?" 

"The  great  thing  was  to  keep  it  quiet.    Now, 


DOCTOR  MARY'S  PAYING  GUEST 

wasn't  it?  And  there  was  the  shell-shock — or 
so  Eustace — Captain  Cranster,  I  mean — said, 
anyhow.  So,  on  the  Colonel's  advice,  Mamma 
squared  the  check  business  and — and  they  gave 
him  twenty-four  hours  to  clear  out.  Papa — I 
call  the  Colonel  Papa,  you  know,  though  he's 
really  my  stepfather — used  a  little  influence,  I 
think.  Anyhow  it  was  managed.  I  never  saw 
him  again,  Mary." 

"Poor  dear!    Was  it  very  bad?" 

"Yes!  But — suppose  we  had  been  married! 
Mary,  where  should  I  have  been?" 

Mary  Arkroyd  left  that  problem  alone. 
"Were  you  very  fond  of  him?"  she  asked. 

"Awfully!"  Cynthia  turned  up  to  her  friend 
pretty  blue  eyes  suffused  in  tears.  "It  was  the 
end  of  the  world  to  me.  That  there  could  be 
such  men!  I  went  to  bed.  Mamma  could  do 
nothing  with  me.  Oh,  well,  she  wrote  to  you 
about  all  that." 

"She  told  me  you  were  in  a  pretty  bad  way." 

"I  was  just  desperate!  Then  one  day — in 
bed — the  thought  of  you  came.  It  seemed  an 

8 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

absolute  inspiration.  I  remembered  the  card 
you  sent  on  my  last  birthday — you've  never  for- 
gotten my  birthdays,  though  it's  years  since  we 
met — with  your  new  address  here — and  your 
'Doctor,'  and  all  the  letters  after  your  name!  I 
thought  it  rather  funny."  A  faint  smile,  the  first 
since  Miss  Walford's  arrival  at  Inkston,  prob- 
ably the  first  since  Captain  Eustace  Cranster's 
shell-shock  had  wrought  catastrophe — appeared 
on  her  lips.  "How  I  waited  for  your  answer! 
You  don't  mind  having  me,  do  you,  dear? 
Mamma  insisted  on  suggesting  the  P.G.  ar- 
rangement. I  was  afraid  you'd  shy  at  it." 

"Not  a  bit!  I  should  have  liked  to  have  you 
anyhow,  but  I  can  make  you  much  more  com- 
fortable with  the  P.G.  money.  And  your  maid 
too — she  looks  as  if  she  was  accustomed  to  the 
best!  By  the  way,  need  she  be  quite  so  tearful? 
She's  more  tearful  than  you  are  yourself." 

"Jeanne's  very,  very  fond  of  me,"  Cynthia 
murmured  reproachfully. 

"Oh,  we'll  get  her  out  of  that,"  said  Mary 
briskly.  "The  tears,  I  mean,  not  the  fondness. 

4 


DOCTOR  MARY'S  PAYING  GUEST 

I'm  very  fond  of  you  myself.  Six  years  ago 
you  were  a  charming  kitten,  and  I  used  to  enjoy 
being  your  Visiting  governess' — to  say  nothing 
of  finding  the  guineas  very  handy  while  I  was 
waiting  to  qualify.  You're  rather  like  a  kitten 
still,  one  of  those  blue-eyed  ones — Siamese, 
aren't  they? — with  close  fur  and  a  wondering 
look.  But  you  mustn't  mew  down  here,  and 
you  must  have  lots  of  milk  and  cream.  Even 
if  rations  go  on,  I  can  certify  all  the  extras 
for  you.  That's  the  good  of  being  a  doctor!" 
She  laughed  cheerfully  as  she  took  a  cigarette 
from  the  mantelpiece  and  lit  it. 

Cynthia,  on  the  other  hand,  began  to  sob 
prettily  and  not  in  a  noisy  fashion,  yet  evidently 
heading  towards  a  bout  of  grief.  Moreover,  no 
sooner  had  the  first  sound  of  lamentation  es- 
caped from  her  lips,  than  the  door  was  opened 
smartly  and  a  buxom  girl,  in  lady's  maid  uni- 
form, rushed  in,  darted  across  the  room,  and 
knelt  by  Cynthia,  sobbing  also  and  exclaiming, 
"Oh,  my  poor  Mees  Cynthia!" 

Mary  smiled  in  a  humorous  contempt. 

5 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

animations — she  had  a  high  opinion  of  her  own 
common  sense  and  her  power  of  guiding  weaker 
mortals. 

For  all  that  Jeanne's  cheek  bulged  with  a 
chocolate,  there  was  open  resentment  on  her 
full,  pouting  lips,  and  a  hint  of  the  same  feeling 
in  Cynthia's  still  liquid  eyes,  when  mistress  and 
maid  came  downstairs  again.  Without  heeding 
these  signs,  Mary  drew  on  her  gauntlets,  took 
her  walking-stick,  and  fiung  the  hall  door  open. 
A  rush  of  cold  wind  filled  the  little  hall.  Jeanne 
shivered  ostentatiously;  Cynthia  sighed  and 
muffled  herself  deeper  in  her  fur  collar.  "A 
good  walking  day!"  said  Mary  decisively. 

Up  to  now,  Inkston  had  not  impressed  Cyn- 
thia Walford  very  favorably.  It  was  indeed  a 
mixed  kind  of  a  place.  "Like  many  villages 
which  lie  near  to  London  and  have  been  made, 
by  modern  developments,  more  accessible  than 
once  they  were,  it  showed  chronological  strata  In 
its  buildings.  Down  by  the  station  all  was  new, 
red,  suburban.  Mounting  the  tarred  road,  the 
wayfarer  bore  slightly  to  the  right  along  the 

8 


DOCTOR  MARY'S  PAYING  GUEST 

original  village  street;  bating  the  aggressive 
"fronts"  of  one  or  two  commercial  innovators, 
this  was  old,  calm,  serene,  gray  in  tone  and 
restful,  ornamented  by  three  or  four  good  class 
Georgian  houses,  one  quite  fine,  with  well 
wrought  iron  gates  (this  was  Dr.  Irechester's) ; 
turning  to  the  right  again,  but  more  sharply,  the 
wayfarer  found  himself  once  more  in  villadom, 
but  a  villadom  more  ornate,  more  costly,  with 
gardens  to  be  measured  in  acres — or  nearly. 
This  was  Hinton  Avenue  (Hinton  because  it 
was  the  maiden  name  of  the  builder's  wife; 
Avenue  because  avenue  is  genteel) .  Here  Mary 
dwelt,  but  by  good  luck  her  predecessor,  Dr. 
Christian  Evans,  had  seized  upon  a  surviving 
old  cottage  at  the  end  of  the  avenue,  and,  indeed, 
of  Inkston  village  itself.  Beyond  it  stretched 
meadows,  while  the  road,  turning  again,  ran 
across  an  open  heath,  and  .pursued  its  way  to 
Sprotsfield,  four  miles  distant,  a  place  of  greater 
size  where  all  amenities  could  be  found. 

It  was  along  this  road  that  the  friends  now 
walked,   Mary  setting  a  brisk  pace.     "When 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

once  you've  turned  your  back  on  the  Avenue,  it's 
heaps  better,"  she  said.  "Might  be  real  country, 
looking  this  way,  mightn't  it?  Except  the  Nay- 
lors'  place — Oh,  and  Tower  Cottage — there  are 
no  houses  between  this  and  Sprotsfield." 

The  wind  blew  shrewdly,  with  an  occasional 
spatter  of  rain ;  the  withered  bracken  lay  like  a 
vast  carpet  of  dull  copper-color  under  the  cloudy 
sky;  scattered  fir-trees  made  fantastic  shapes  in 
the  early  gloom  of  a  December  day.  A  somber 
scene,  yet  wanting  only  sunshine  to  make  it 
flash  in  a  richness  of  color;  even  to-day  its  quiet 
and  spaciousness,  its  melancholy  and  monotony, 
seemed  to  bid  a  sympathetic  and  soothing  wel- 
come to  aching  and  fretted  hearts. 

"It  really  is  rather  nice  out  here,"  Cynthia 
admitted. 

"I  come  almost  every  afternoon.  Oh,  I've 
plenty  of  time !  My  round  in  the  morning  gen- 
erally sees  me  through — except  for  emergencies, 
births  and  deaths,  and  so  on.  You  see,  my  pre- 
decessor, poor  Christian  Evans,  never  had  more 
than  the  leavings,  and  that's  all  I've  got.  I 

10 


DOCTOE  MARY'S  PAYING  GUEST 

believe  the  real  doctor,  the  old-established  one, 
Dr.  Irechester,  was  angry  at  first  with  Dr. 
Evans  for  coming;  he  didn't  want  a  rival.  But 
Christian  was  such  a  meek,  mild,  simple  little 
Welshman,  not  the  least  pushing  or  ambitious; 
and  very  soon  Dr.  Irechester,  who's  quite  well 
off,  was  glad  to  leave  him  the  dirty  work,  I  mean 
(she  explained,  smiling)  the  cottages,  and  the 
panel  work,  National  Insurance,  you  know,  and 
so  on.  Well,  as  you  know,  I  came  down  as 
locum  for  Christian,  he  was  a  fellow-student  of 
mine,  and  when  the  dear  little  man  was  killed 
in  France,  Dr.  Irechester  himself  suggested  that 
I  should  stay  on.  He  was  rather  nice.  He 
said,  'We  all  started  to  laugh  at  you,  at  first, 
but  we  don't  laugh  now,  anyhow,  only  my  wife 
does !  So,  if  you  stay  on,  I  don't  doubt  we  shall 
work  very  well  together,  my  dear  colleague.' 
Wasn't  that  rather  nice  of  him,  Cynthia?" 

"Yes,  dear,"  said  Cynthia,  in  a  voice  that 
sounded  a  good  many  miles  away. 

Mary  laughed.  "I'm  bound  to  be  interested 
in  you,  but  I  suppose  you're  not  bound  to  be 

11 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

interested  in  me,"  she  observed  resignedly.  "All 
the  same,  I  made  a  sensation  at  Inkston  just  at 
first.  And  they  were  even  more  astonished  when 
it  turned  out  that  I  could  dance  and  play  lawn 
tennis." 

"That's  a  funny  little  place,"  said  Cynthia, 
pointing  to  the  left  side  of  the  road. 

"Tower  Cottage,  that's  called." 

"But  what  a  funny  place!"  Cynthia  insisted. 
"A  round  tower,  like  a  Martello  tower,  only 
smaller,  of  course;  and  what  looks  just  like  an 
ordinary  cottage  or  small  farm-house  joined  on 
to  it.  What  could  the  tower  have  been  for?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  Origin  lost  in  the 
mists  of  antiquity!  An  old  gentleman  named 
Saffron  lives  there  now." 

"A  patient  of  yours,  Mary?" 

"Oh,  no!  He's  well  off,  rich,  I  believe.  So 
he  belongs  to  Dr.  Irechester.  But  I  often  meet 
him  along  the  road.  Lately  there's  always  been 
a  younger  man  with  him,  a  companion,  or  secre- 
tary, or  something  of  that  sort,  I  hear  he  is." 

12 


DOCTOR  MARY'S  PAYING  GUEST 

"There  are  two  men  coming  along  the  road 
now." 

"Yes,  that's  them,  the  old  man,  and  his  friend. 
He's  rather  striking  to  look  at." 

"Which  of  them?" 

"The  old  man,  of  course.  I  haven't  looked  at 
the  secretary.  Cynthia,  I  believe  you're  begin- 
ning to  feel  a  little  better!" 

"Oh,  no,  I'm  not!  I'm  afraid  I'm  not, 
really  I"  But  there  had  been  a  cheerfully  roguish 
little  smile  on  her  face.  It  vanished  very 
promptly  when  observed. 

The  two  men  approached  them,  on  their  way, 
no  doubt,  to  Tower  Cottage.  The  old  man  was 
not  above  middle  height,  indeed,  scarcely  reached 
it;  but  he  made  the  most  of  his  inches  carrying 
himself  very  upright,  with  an  air  of  high  dignity. 
Close-cut  white  hair  showed  under  an  old- 
fashioned  peaked  cap;  he  wore  a  plaid  shawl 
swathed  round  him,  his  left  arm  being  enveloped 
in  its  folds;  his  right  rested  in  the  arm  of  his 
companion,  who  was  taller  than  he,  lean  and 
loose-built,  clad  in  an  almost  white  (and  very; 

13 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

unseasonable  looking)  suit  of  some  homespun 
material.  He  wore  no  covering  on  his  head,  a 
thick  crop  of  curly  hair  (of  a  color  indistinguish- 
able in  the  dim  light)  presumably  affording  such 
protection  as  he  needed.  His  face  was  turned 
down  towards  the  old  man,  who  was  looking  up 
at  him  and  apparently  talking  to  him,  though 
in  so  low  a  tone  that  no  sound  reached  Mary 
and  Cynthia  as  they  passed  by.  Neither  man 
gave  any  sign  of  noticing  their  presence. 

"Mr.  Saffron,  you  said?  Rather  a  queer  name, 
but  he  looks  a  nice  old  man;  patriarchal,  you 
know.  What's  the  name  of  the  other  one?" 

"I  did  hear;  somebody  mentioned  him  at  the 
Naylors' — somebody  who  had  heard  something 
about  him  in  France.  What  was  the  name?  It 
was  something  queer  too,  I  think." 

"They've  got  queer  names,  and  they  live  in 
a  queer  house!"  Cynthia  actually  gave  a  little 
laugh.  "But  are  you  going  to  walk  all  night, 
Mary  dear?" 

"Oh,  poor  thing!  I  forgot  you!  You're 
tired?  We'll  turn  back." 

14 


DOCTOR  MARY'S  PAYING  GUEST 

They  retraced  their  steps,  again  passing 
Tower  Cottage,  into  which  its  occupants  must 
have  gone,  for  they  were  no  longer  to  be  seen. 

"That  name's  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue,"  said 
Mary  in  amused  vexation.  "I  shall  get  it  in  a 
moment !" 

.  Cynthia  had  relapsed  into  gloom.    "It  doesn't 
matter  in  the  least,"  she  murmured. 

"It's  Beaumaroy!"  said  Mary  in  triumph. 

"I  don't  wonder  you  couldn't  remember  that  1" 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  GENERAL  REMEMBERS 

AMONGST  other  various,  and  no  doubt  useful, 
functions,  Miss  Delia  Wall  performed  that  of 
gossip  and  news  agent-general  to  the  village  of 
Inkston.  A  hard-featured,  swarthy  spinster  of 
forty,  with  a  roving,  inquisitive,  yet  not  un- 
kindly eye,  she  perambulated — or  rather  per- 
cycled — the  district,  taking  stock  of  every  in- 
cident. Not  a  cat  could  kitten  or  a  dog  have 
the  mange  without  her  privity;  critics  of  her 
mental  activity  went  near  to  insinuating  con- 
nivance. Naturally,  therefore,  she  was  well 
acquainted  with  the  new  development  at  Tower 
Cottage,  although  the  isolated  position  of  that 
dwelling  made  thorough  observation  piquantly 
difficult.  She  laid  her  information  before  an 
attentive,  if  not  very  respectful,  audience  gath- 
ered round  the  tea-table  at  Old  Place,  the 

16 


THE  GENERAL  REMEMBERS 


Naylors'  handsome  house  on  the  outskirts  of 
Sprotsfield  and  on  the  far  side  of  the  heath  from 
Inkston.  She  was  enjoying  herself,  although 
she  was,  as  usual,  a  trifle  distrustful  of  the  quality 
of  Mr.  Naylor's  smile;  it  smacked  of  the  satiric. 
"He  looks  at  you  as  if  you  were  a  specimen," 
she  had  once  been  heard  to  complain;  and,  when 
she  said  "specimen,"  it  was  obviously  beetles  that 
she  had  in  mind. 

"Everybody  knows  old  Mr.  Saffron — by  sight, 
I  mean — and  the  woman  who  does  for  him,"  she 
said.  "There's  never  been  anything  remarkable 
about  them.  He  took  his  walk  as  regular  as 
clockwork  every  afternoon,  and  she  bought  just 
the  same  things  every  week ;  her  books  must  have 
tallied  almost  to  a  penny  every  month,  Mrs. 
Naylor!  I  know  it!  And  it  was  a  very  rare 
thing  indeed  for  Mr.  Saffron  to  go  to  London — 
though  I  have  known  him  to  be  away  once  or 
twice.  But  very,  very  rarely  I"  She  paused  and 
added  dramatically,  "Until  the  armistice!" 

"Full  of  ramifications,  that  event,  Miss  Wall. 
It  affects  even  my  business."  Mr.  Naylor, 

17 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

though  now  withdrawn  from  an  active  share  in 
its  conduct,  was  still  interested  in  the  large  ship- 
ping firm  from  which  he  had  drawn  his  com- 
fortable fortune. 

She  looked  at  him  suspiciously,  as  he  put  the 
ends  of  the  slender  white  fingers  of  his  two 
hands  together,  and  leant  forward  to  listen  with 
that  smile  of  his  and  eyes  faintly  twinkling.  But 
the  problem  was  seething  in  her  brain;  she  had 
to  go  on. 

"A  week  after  the  armistice  Mr.  Saffron  went 
to  London  by  the  9.50.  He  traveled  first, 
Anna." 

"Did  he,  dear?"  Mrs.  Naylor,  a  stout  and 
placid  dame,  was  not  yet  stirred  to  excitement. 

"He  came  down  by  the  4.11,  and  those  two 
men  with  him.  And  they've  been  there  ever 
since!" 

"Two  men,  Delia!    I've  only  seen  one." 

"Oh  yes,  there's  another!  Sergeant  Hooper 
they  call  him;  a  short  thickset  man  with  a  black 
mustache.  He  buys  two  bottles  of  rum  every 

18 


THE  GENERAL  REMEMBERS 


week  at  the  Green  Man.  And — one  minute, 
please,  Mr.  Naylor " 

"I  was  only  going  to  say  that  it  looks  to  me 
as  if  this  man  Hooper  were,  or  had  been,  a 
soldier.  What  do  you  think?" 

"Never  mind,  Papa!  Go  on,  Miss  Wall.  I'm 
interested."  This  encouragement  came  from 
Gertie  Naylor,  a  pretty  girl  of  seventeen  who 
was  consuming  much  tea,  bread,  and  honey. 

"And  since  then  the  old  gentleman  and  this 
Mr.  Beaumaroy  go  to  town  regularly  every 
week  on  Wednesdays!  Now  who  are  they,  how 
did  Mr.  Saffron  get  hold  of  them,  and  what  are 
they  doing  here?  I'm  at  a  loss,  Anna." 

Apparently  an  impasse!  And  Mr.  Naylor  did 
not  seem  to  assist  matters  by  asking  whether 
Miss  Wall  had  kept  a  constant  eye  on  the 
Agony  Column.  Mrs.  Naylor  took  up  her  knit- 
ting and  switched  off  to  another  topic. 

"Dr.  Arkroyd's  friend,  Delia  dear!  What  a 
charming  girl  she  looks!" 

"Friend,  Anna?  I  didn't  know  thatl  A 
patient,  I  understand,  anyhow.  She's  taking 

19 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

though  now  withdrawn  from  an  active  share  in 
its  conduct,  was  still  interested  in  the  large  ship- 
ping firm  from  which  he  had  drawn  his  com- 
fortable fortune. 

She  looked  at  him  suspiciously,  as  he  put  the 
ends  of  the  slender  white  fingers  of  his  two 
hands  together,  and  leant  forward  to  listen  with 
that  smile  of  his  and  eyes  faintly  twinkling.  But 
the  problem  was  seething  in  her  brain;  she  had 
to  go  on. 

"A  week  after  the  armistice  Mr.  Saffron  went 
to  London  by  the  9.50.  He  traveled  first, 
Anna." 

"Did  he,  dear?"  Mrs.  Naylor,  a  stout  and 
placid  dame,  was  not  yet  stirred  to  excitement. 

"He  came  down  by  the  4.11,  and  those  two 
men  with  him.  And  they've  been  there  ever 
since!" 

"Two  men,  Delia!    I've  only  seen  one." 

"Oh  yes,  there's  another!  Sergeant  Hooper 
they  call  him;  a  short  thickset  man  with  a  black 
mustache.  He  buys  two  bottles  of  rum  every 

IS 


THE  GENERAL  REMEMBERS 


week  at  the  Green  Man.  And — one  minute, 
please,  Mr.  Naylor " 

"I  was  only  going  to  say  that  it  looks  to  me 
as  if  this  man  Hooper  were,  or  had  been,  a 
soldier.  What  do  you  think?" 

"Never  mind,  Papa!  Go  on,  Miss  Wall.  I'm 
interested."  This  encouragement  came  from 
Gertie  Naylor,  a  pretty  girl  of  seventeen  who 
was  consuming  much  tea,  bread,  and  honey. 

"And  since  then  the  old  gentleman  and  this 
Mr.  Beaumaroy  go  to  town  regularly  every 
week  on  Wednesdays!  Now  who  are  they,  how 
did  Mr.  Saffron  get  hold  of  them,  and  what  are 
they  doing  here?  I'm  at  a  loss,  Anna." 

Apparently  an  impasse!  And  Mr.  Naylor  did 
not  seem  to  assist  matters  by  asking  whether 
Miss  Wall  had  kept  a  constant  eye  on  the 
Agony  Column.  Mrs.  Naylor  took  up  her  knit- 
ting and  switched  off  to  another  topic. 

"Dr.  Arkroyd's  friend,  Delia  dear!  What  a 
charming  girl  she  looks!" 

"Friend,  Anna?  I  didn't  know  that!  A 
patient,  I  understand,  anyhow.  She's  taking 

19 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

Valentine's  beef  juice.  Of  course  they  do  give 
that  in  drink  cases,  but  I  should  be  sorry  to 
think " 

"Drugs,  more  likely,"  Mr.  Naylor  suavely 
interposed.  Then  he  rose  from  his  chair  and 
began  to  pace  slowly  up  and  down  the  long 
room,  looking  at  his  beautiful  pictures,  his 
beautiful  china,  his  beautiful  chairs,  all  the 
beautiful  things  that  were  his.  His  family  took 
no  notice  of  this  roving  up  and  down;  it  was  a 
habit,  and  was  tacitly  accepted  as  meaning  that 
he  had,  for  the  moment,  had  enough  of  the  com- 
pany, and  even  of  his  own  sallies  at  its  expense. 

"I've  asked  Dr.  Arkroyd  to  bring  her  over, 
Miss  Walford,  I  mean,  the  first  day  it's  fine 
enough  for  tennis,"  Mrs.  Naylor  pursued.  There 
was  a  hard  court  at  Old  Place,  so  that  winter 
did  not  stop  the  game  entirely. 

"What  a  name,  too!" 

"Walford?     It's  quite  a  good  name,  Delia." 

"No,  no,  Anna!  Beaumaroy,  of  course." 
Miss  Wall  was  back  at  the  larger  problem. 

"There's  Alec's  voice.  He  and  the  General 
20 


THE  GENERAL  REMEMBERS 


are  back  from  their  golf.  Ring  for  another  tea- 
pot, Gertie  dear!" 

The  door  opened,  not  Alec,  but  the  General 
came  in,  and  closed  the  door  carefuly  behind 
him;  it  was  obviously  an  act  of  precaution  and 
not  merely  a  normal  exercise  of  good  manners. 
Then  he  walked  up  to  his  hostess  and  said,  "It's 
not  my  fault,  Anna.  Alec  would  do  it,  though 
I  shook  my  head  at  him,  behind  the  fellow's 
back." 

"What  do  you  mean,  General?"  cried  the 
hostess.  Mr.  Naylor,  for  his  part,  stopped 
roving. 

The  door  again  1  "Come  in,  Mr.  Beaumaroy 
— here's  tea." 

Mr.  Beaumaroy  obediently  entered,  in  the 
wake  of  Captain  Alec  Naylor,  who  duly  pre- 
sented him  to  Mrs.  Naylor,  adding  that  Beau- 
maroy had  been  kind  enough  to  make  the  fourth 
in  a  game  with  the  General,  the  Rector  of 
Sprotsfield,  and  himself.  "And  he  and  the 
parson  were  too  tough  a  nut  for  us,  weren't  they, 
sir?"  he  added  to  the  General. 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

Besides  being  an  excellent  officer  and  a  capital 
fellow,  Alec  Naylor  was  also  reputed  to  be  one 
of  the  handsomest  men  in  the  Service;  six  foot 
three,  very  straight,  very  fair,  with  features  as 
regular  as  any  romantic  hero  of  them  all,  and 
eyes  as  blue.  The  honorable  limp  that  at  present 
marked  his  movements  would,  it  was  hoped,  pass 
away.  Even  his  own  family  were  often  surprised 
into  a  new  admiration  of  his  physical  perfec- 
tions, remarking,  one  to  the  other,  how  Alec  took 
the  shine  out  of  every  other  man  in  the  room. 

There  was  no  shine,  no  external  obvious  shine, 
to  take  out  of  Mr.  Beaumaroy,  Miss  Wall's 
puzzling,  unaccounted-for  Mr.  Beaumaroy.  The 
light  showed  him  now  more  clearly  than  when 
Mary  Arkroyd  met  him  on  the  heath  road,  but 
perhaps  thereby  did  him  no  service.  His  fea- 
tures, though  irregular,  were  not  ugly  or  insig- 
nificant, but  he  wore  a  rather  battered  aspect; 
there  were  deep  lines  running  from  the  corners 
of  his  mouth,  and  crowsfeet  had  started  under 
the  gray  eyes  which,  in  their  turn,  looked  more 
skeptical  than  ardent,  rather  mocking  than 

22 


THE  GENERAL  REMEMBERS 


eager.  Yet  when  he  smiled,  his  face  became  not 
merely  pleasant,  but  confidentially  pleasant;  he 
seemed  to  smile  especially  to  and  for  the  person 
to  whom  he  was  talking;  and  his  voice  was  not- 
ably agreeable,  soft  and  clear — the  voice  of  a 
high-bred  man,  but  not  exactly  of  a  high-bred 
Englishman.  There  was  no  accent  definite 
enough  to  be  called  foreign,  certainly  not  to  be 
assigned  to  any  particular  race,  but  there  was 
an  exotic  touch  about  his  manner  of  speech  sug- 
gesting that,  even  if  not  that  of  a  foreigner,  it 
was  shaped  and  colored  by  the  inflexions  of 
foreign  tongues.  The  hue  of  his  plentiful  and 
curly  hair,  indistinguishable  to  Mary  and  Cyn- 
thia, now  stood  revealed  as  neither  black,  nor 
red,  nor  auburn,  nor  brown,  nor  golden,  but  just, 
and  rather  surprisingly,  a  plain  yellow,  the  color 
of  a  cowslip  or  thereabouts.  Altogether  rather 
a  rum-looking  fellow!  This  had  been  Alec 
Naylor's  first  remark  when  the  Rector  of  Sprots- 
field  pointed  him  out,  as  a  possible  fourth,  at 
the  golf  club,  and  the  rough  justice  of  the  de- 
scription could  not  be  denied.  He,  like  Alec, 

23 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

'bore  his  scars;  the  little  finger  of  his  right  hand 
was  amputated  down  to  the  knuckle. 

Yet,  after  all  this  description,  in  particularity 
if  not  otherwise  worthy  of  a  classic  novelist,  the 
thing  yet  remains  that  most  struck  observers. 
Mr.  Hector  Beaumaroy  had  an  adorable  candor 
of  manner.  He  answered  questions  with  inno- 
cent readiness  and  pellucid  sincerity.  It  would 
be  impossible  to  think  him  guilty  of  a  lie;  un- 
generous to  suspect  so  much  as  a  suppression 
of  the  truth.  Even  Mr.  Naylor,  hardened  by 
five-and-thirty  years'  experience  of  what  sailors 
will  blandly  swear  to  in  collision  cases,  was 
struck  with  the  open  candor  of  his  bearing. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "Yes,  Miss  Wall,  that's  right, 
we  go  to  town  every  Wednesday.  No  particu- 
lar reason  why  it  should  be  Wednesday,  but  old 
gentlemen  somehow  do  better — don't  you  think 
so? — with  method  and  regular  habits." 

"I'm  sure  you  know  what's  best  for  Mr. 
Saffron,"  said  Delia.  "You've  known  him  a  long 
time,  haven't  you?" 

Mr.  Naylor  drew  a  little  nearer  and  listened. 
24 


THE  GENERAL  REMEMBERS 


The  General  had  put  himself  into  the  corner, 
a  remote  corner  of  the  room,  and  sat  there  with 
an  uneasy  and  rather  glowering  aspect. 

"Oh  no,  no!"  answered  Beaumaroy.  "A  mat- 
ter of  weeks  only.  But  the  dear  old  fellow 
seemed  to  take  to  me — a  friend  put  us  in  touch 
originally.  I  seem  to  be  able  to  do  just  what 
he  want! ." 

"I  hope  your  friend  is  not  really  ill,  not  seri- 
ously?" This  time  the  question  was  Mrs.  Nay- 
lor's,  not  Miss  Delia's. 

"His  health  is  really  not  so  bad,  but,"  he 
gave  a  glance  round  the  company,  as  though 
inviting  their  understanding,  "he  insists  that  he's 
not  the  man  he  was." 

"Absurd!"  smiled  Naylor.  "Not  much  older 
than  I  am,  is  he?" 

"Only  just  turned  seventy,  I  believe.  But 
the  idea's  very  persistent." 

"Hypochondria!"  snapped  Miss  Delia. 

"Not  altogether.    I'm  afraid  there  is  a  little 

real  heart  trouble.    Dr.  Irechester " 

25 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

"Oh,  with  Dr.  Irechester,  dear  Mr.  Beau- 
maroy,  you're  all  right  1" 

Again  Beaumaroy's  glance — that  glance  of 
innocent  appeal — ranged  over  the  company  (ex- 
cept the  General,  out  of  its  reach) .  He  seemed 
troubled  and  embarrassed. 

"A  most  accomplished  man,  evidently,  and  a 
friend  of  yours,  of  course.  But,  well,  there  it  is, 
a  mere  fancy,  of  course,  but  unhappily  my  old 
friend  doesn't  take  to  him.  He,  he  thinks  that 
he's  rather  inquisitorial.  A  doctor's  duty,  I  sup- 
pose  " 

"Irechester's  a  sound  man,  a  very  sound  man," 
said  Mr.  Naylor.  "And,  after  all  one  can  ask 
almost  any  question  if  one  does  it  tactfully,  can't 
one,  Miss  Wall?" 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  he's  only  seen  Mr. 
Saffron  twice — he  had  a  little  chill.  But  his 
manner,  unfortunately,  rather,  er — alarmed " 

Gertie  Naylor,  with  the  directness  of  youth, 
propounded  a  solution  of  the  difficulty.  "If  you 
don't  like  Dr.  Irechester " 

"Oh,  it's  not  I  who " 

26 


THE  GENERAL  REMEMBERS 


"Why  not  have  Mary?"  Gertie  made  her 
suggestion  eagerly.  She  was  very  fond  of  Mary, 
who,  from  the  height  of  age,  wisdom  and  pro- 
fessional dignity,  had  stooped  to  offer  her  an 
equal  friendship. 

"She  means  Dr.  Mary  Arkroyd,"  Mrs  Naylor 
explained. 

"Yes,  I  know,  Mrs.  Naylor,  I  know  about 
Dr.  Arkroyd.  In  fact,  I  know  her  by  sight. 
But " 

"Perhaps  you  don't  believe  in  women  doc- 
tors?" Alec  suggested. 

"It's  not  that.  I've  no  prejudices.  But  the 
responsibility  is  on  me,  and  I  know  very  little 
of  her;  and,  well  to  change  one's  doctor,  it's 
rather  invidious " 

"Oh,  as  to  that,  Irechester's  a  sensible  man; 
he's  got  as  much  work  as  he  wants,  and  as  much 
money  too.  He  won't  resent  an  old  man's 
fancy." 

"Well,  I'd  never  thought  of  a  change,  but  if 

you  all  suggest  it "  Somehow  it  did  seem  as 

if  they  all,  and  not  merely  youthful  Gertie  had 

27 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

suggested  it.  "But  I  should  rather  like  to  know 
Dr.  Arkroyd  first." 

"Come  and  meet  her  here;  that's  very  simple. 
She  often  comes  to  tennis  and  tea.  We'll  let 
you  know  the  first  time  she's  coming." 

Beaumaroy  most  cordially  accepted  the  idea 
and  the  invitation.  "Any  afternoon  I  shall  be 
delighted,  except  Wednesdays.  Wednesdays  are 
sacred,  aren't  they,  Miss  Wall?  London  on 
Wednesdays  for  Mr.  Saffron  and  me,  and  the 
old  brown  bag!"  He  laughed  in  a  quiet  merri- 
ment. "That  old  bag's  been  in  a  lot  of  places 
with  me  and  has  carried  some  queer  cargoes. 
Now  it  just  goes  to  and  fro,  between  here  and 
town,  with  Mudie  books.  Must  have  books,  liv- 
ing so  much  alone  as  we  do!"  "He  had  risen  as 
he  spoke,  and  approached  Mrs.  Naylor  to  take 
leave. 

She  gave  him  her  hand  very  cordially.  "I 
don't  suppose  Mr.  Saffron  cares  to  meet  people; 
but  any  spare  time  you  have,  Mr.  Beaumaroy, 
we  shall  be  delighted  to  see  you." 

Beaumaroy  bowed  as  he  thanked  her,  adding, 
28 


THE  GENERAL  REMEMBERS 


"And  I'm  promised  a  chance  of  meeting  Dr. 
Arkroyd  before  long?" 

The  promise  was  renewed  and  the  visitor  took 
his  leave,  declining  Alec's  offer  to  "run  him 
home"  in  the  car.  "The  car  might  startle  my 
old  friend,"  he  pleaded.  Alec  saw  him  off,  and 
returned  to  find  the  General,  who  had  contrived 
to  avoid  more  than  a  distant  bow  of  farewell  to 
Beaumaroy,  standing  on  the  hearthrug  ap- 
parently in  a  state  of  some  agitation. 

The  envious  years  had  refused  to  Major- 
General  Punnit,  C.B. — he  was  a  distant  cousin 
of  Mrs.  Naylor's — the  privilege  of  serving  his 
country  in  the  Great  War.  His  career  had  lain 
mainly  in  India  and  was  mostly  behind  him  even 
at  the  date  of  the  South  African  War,  in  which, 
however,  he  had  done  valuable  work  in  one  of 
the  supply  services.  He  was  short,  stout, 
honest,  brave,  shrewd,  obstinate,  and  as  full  of 
prejudices,  religious,  political  and  personal  as 
an  egg  is  of  meat.  And  all  this  time  he  had 
been  slowly  and  painfully  recalling  what  his 
young  friend  Colonel  Merman  (the  Colonel  was 

29 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

young  only  relatively  to  the  General)  had  told 
him  about  Hector  Beaumaroy.  The  name  had 
struck  on  his  memory  the  moment  the  Rector 
pronounced  it,  but  it  had  taken  him  a  long  while 
to  "place  it"  accurately.  However,  now  he  had 
it  pat;  the  conversation  in  the  club  came  back. 
He  retailed  it  now  to  the  company  at  Old  Place. 
A  pleasant  fellow,  Beaumaroy;  socially  a 
very  agreeable  fellow.  And  as  for  courage, 
as  brave  as  you  like.  Indeed  he  might  have 
had  letters  after  his  name  save  for  the  fact 
that  he — the  Colonel — would  never  recommend 
a  man  unless  his  discipline  was  as  good  as  his 
leading,  and  his  conduct  at  the  base  as  praise- 
worthy as  at  the  front.  (Alec  Nay  lor  nodded 
his  handsome  head  in  grave  approval;  his  father 
looked  a  little  discontented,  as  though  he  were 
swallowing  unpalatable,  though  wholesome, 
food) .  His  whole  idea — Beaumaroy 's,  that  is — 
was  to  shield  offenders,  to  prevent  the  punish- 
ment fitting  the  crime,  even  to  console  and 
countenance  the  wrongdoer.  No  sense  of  disci- 
pline, no  moral  sense,  the  Colonel  had  gone  as 

30 


THE  GENERAL  REMEMBERS 


far  as  that.  Impossible  to  promote  or  to  recom- 
mend for  reward,  almost  impossible  to  keep. 
Of  course,  if  he  had  been  caught  young  and 
put  through  the  mill,  it  might  have  been  dif- 
ferent. "It  might"  the  Colonel  heavily  under- 
lined the  possibility,  but  he  came  from  Heaven 
knew  where,  after  a  life  spent  Heaven  knew 
how.  "And  he  seemed  to  know  it  himself,"  the 
Colonel  had  said,  thoughtfully  rolling  his  port 
round  in  the  glass.  "Whenever  I  wigged  him, 
he  offered  to  go;  said  he'd  chuck  his  commission 
and  enlist;  said  he'd  be  happier  in  the  ranks. 
But  I  was  weak,  I  couldn't  bear  to  do  it."  After 
thus  quoting  his  friend,  the  General  added :  "He 
was  weak,  damned  weak,  and  I  told  him  so." 

"Of  course  he  ought  to  have  got  rid  of  him," 
said  Alec.  "Still,  sir,  there's  nothing,  er,  dis- 
graceful." 

"It  seems  hardly  to  have  come  to  that,"  the 
General  admitted  reluctantly. 

"It  all  rather  makes  me  like  him,"  Gertie 
affirmed  courageously. 

"I  think  that,  on  the  whole,  we  may  venture 
31 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

to  know  him  in  times  of  peace,"  Mr.  Naylor 
summed  up. 

"That's  your  look  out,"  remarked  the  General. 
"I've  warned  you.  You  can  do  as  you  like." 

Delia  Wall  had  sat  silent  through  the  story. 
Now  she  spoke  up,  and  got  back  to  the  real 
point : 

"There's  nothing  in  all  that  to  show  how  he 
comes  to  be  at  Mr.  Saffron's." 

The  General  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Oh, 
Saffron  be  hanged !  He's  not  the  British  Army," 
he  said. 


CHAPTER  III 

MR.  SAFFRON  AT  HOME 

To  put  it  plainly,  Sergeant  Hooper — he  had 
been  a  Sergeant  for  a  brief  and  precarious  three 
weeks,  but  he  used  the  title  in  civil  life  when- 
ever he  safely  could,  and  he  could  at  Inkston — 
Sergeant  Hooper  was  a  villainous-looking  dog. 
Beaumaroy,  fresh  from  the  comely  presences  of 
Old  Place,  unconscious  of  how  the  General  had 
ripped  up  his  character  and  record,  pleasantly 
nursing  a  little  project  concerning  Dr.  Mary 
Arkroyd,  had  never  been  more  forcibly  struck 
with  his  protege's  ill-favoredness  than  when  he 
arrived  home  on  this  same  evening,  and  the  Ser- 
geant met  him  at  the  door. 

"By  gad,  Sergeant,"  he  observed  pleasantly, 
"I  don't  think  anybody  could  be  such  a  rascal 
as  you  look.  It's  that  faith  that  carries  me 
through." 

33 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

The  Sergeant  helped  him  off  with  his  coat. 
"It's  some  people's  stock-in-trade,"  he  remarked, 
"not  to  look  a  rascal  like  they  really  are,  sir." 
The  "sir"  stuck  out  of  pure  habit;  it  carried  no 
real  implication  of  respect. 

"Meaning  me  1"  laughed  Beaumaroy.  "How's 
the  old  man  to-night?" 

"Quiet  enough.  He's  in  the  Tower  there — 
been  there  an  hour  or  more." 

The  cottage  door  opened  on  to  a  narrow  pas- 
sage, with  a  staircase  on  one  side,  and  on  the 
other  a  door  leading  to  a  small  square  parlor, 
cheerfully  if  cheaply  furnished,  and  well  lit  by 
an  oil  lamp.  A  fire  blazed  on  the  hearth,  and 
Beaumaroy  sank  into  a  "saddle-bag"  armchair 
beside  it,  with  a  sigh  of  comfort.  The  Sergeant 
had  jerked  his  head  towards  another  door,  on 
the  right  of  the  fireplace;  it  led  to  the  Tower. 
Beaumaroy's  eyes  settled  on  it. 

"An  hour  or  more,  has  he?  Have  you  heard 
anything?" 

"He  was  making  a  speech  a  little  while  back, 
that's  all." 

34 


MR.  SAFFRON  AT  HOME 


"No  more  complaints  and  palpitations,  or 
anything  of  that  sort?" 

"Not  as  I've  heard.  But  he  never  says  much 
to  me.  Mrs.  Wiles  gets  the  benefit  of  his  symp- 
toms mostly." 

"You're  not  sympathetic,  perhaps." 

During  the  talk  Hooper  had  been  to  a  cup- 
board and  mixed  a  glass  of  whisky  and  soda. 
He  brought  it  to  Beaumaroy  and  put  it  on  a 
small  table  by  him.  Beaumaroy  regarded  his 
squat  paunchy  figure,  red  face,  small  eyes  (a 
squint  in  one  of  them),  and  bulbous  nose  with 
a  patient  and  benign  toleration. 

"Since  you  can't  expect,  Sergeant,  to  pre- 
possess the  judge  and  jury  in  your  favor,  the 
instant  you  make  your  appearance  in  the 
box " 

"Here,  what  are  you  on  to,  sir?" 

"It's  the  more  important  for  you  to  have  it 
clearly  in  your  mind  that  we  are  laboring  in  the 
cause  of  humanity,  freedom,  and  justice. 
Exactly  like  the  Allies  in  the  late  war,  you  know, 
Sergeant.  Keep  that  in  your  mind,  clinch  it! 

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THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

He  hasn't  wanted  you  to  do  anything  particular 
to-night,  or  asked  for  me?" 

"No,  sir.  He's  happy  with — with  what  you 
call  his  playthings." 

"What  are  they  but  playthings?"  asked 
Beaumaroy,  tilting  his  glass  to  his  lips  with  a 
smile  perhaps  a  little  wry. 

"Only  I  wish  as  you  wouldn't  talk  about 
judges  and  juries,"  the  Sergeant  complained. 

"I  really  don't  know  whether  it's  a  civil  or  a 
criminal  matter,  or  both,  or  neither,"  Beaumaroy 
admitted  candidly.  "But  what  we  do  know, 
Sergeant,  is  that  it  provides  us  with  excellent 
billets  and  rations.  Moreover,  a  thing  that  you 
certainly  will  not  appreciate,  it  gratifies  my  taste 
for  the  mysterious." 

"I  hope  there's  a  bit  more  coming  from  it 
than  that,"  said  the  Sergeant.  "That  is,  if  we 
stick  together  faithful,  sir." 

"Oh,  we  shall!  One  thing  puzzles  me  about 
you,  Sergeant.  I  don't  think  I've  mentioned 
it  before.  Sometimes  you  speak  almost  like  an 

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MR.  SAFFRON  AT  HOME 


educated  man;  at  others  your  speecfi  is,  well, 
illiterate." 

"Well,  sir,  it's  a  sort  of  mixture  of  my  mother ; 
she  was  class,  the  blighter  who  come  after  my 
father,  and  the  Board  School " 

''Of  course!  What  they  call  the  educational 
ladder!  That  explains  it.  By  the  way,  I'm 
thinking  of  changing  our  doctor." 

"Good  job,  too.  I  'ate  that  Irechester.  Stares 
at  you,  that  chap  does." 

"Does  he  stare  at  your  eyes?'"  asked  Beau- 
maroy  thoughtfully. 

"I  don't  know  that  he  does  at  my  eyes  par- 
ticularly. Nothing  wrong  with  'em,  is  there?" 
The  Sergeant  sounded  rather  truculent. 

"Never  mind  that;  but  I  fancied  he  stared  at 
Mr.  Saffron's.  And  I've  read  somewhere,  in 
some  book  or  other,  that  doctors  can  tell,  or 
guess,  by  the  eyes.  Well,  that's  only  an  idea. 
How  does  a  lady  doctor  appeal  to  you,  Ser- 
geant?" 

"I  should  be  shy,"  said  the  Sergeant,  grinning. 

"Vulgar!  vulgar!"  Beaumaroy  murmured. 
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THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

"That  Dr.  Mary  Arkroyd?" 

"I  had  thought  of  her." 

"She  ought  to  be  fair  easy  to  kid.  You  'ave 
notions  sometimes,  sir." 

Beaumaroy  stretched  out  his  legs,  debonnair, 
well-rounded  legs,  to  the  seducing  blaze  of  oak 
logs. 

"I  haven't  really  a  care  in  the  world,"  he  said. 

The  Sergeant's  reply,  or  comment,  had  a  dis- 
concerting ring.  "And  you're  sure  of  'Eaven? 
That's  what  the  bloke  always  says  to  the  'ang- 
man." 

"I've  no  intention  of  being  a  murderer,  Ser- 
geant." Beaumaroy's  eyebrows  were  raised  in 
gentle  protest. 

"Once  you're  in  with  a  job,  you  never  know," 
his  retainer  observed  darkly. 

Beaumaroy  laughed.  "OK,  go  to  the  devil! 
and  mix  me  another  whisky."  Yet  a  vague  un- 
easiness showed  itself  on  his  face;  he  looked 
across  the  room  at  the  evil-shaped  man  handling 
the  bottles  in  the  cupboard.  He  made  one 
queer,  restless  movement  of  his  arms,  as  though 

38 


MR.  SAFFRON  AT  HOME 


to  free  himself.  Then,  in  a  moment,  he  sprang 
from  his  chair,  a  glad  kindly  smile  illuminating 
his  face;  he  bowed  in  a  very  courtly  fashion, 
exclaiming,  "Ah!  here  you  are,  sir?  And  all 
well,  I  hope?" 

Mr.  Saffron  had  entered  from  the  door  lead- 
ing to  the  Tower,  carefully  closing  it  after  himv 
Hooper's  hand  went  up  to  his  forehead  in  the 
ghost  of  a  military  salute,  but  a  sneering  smile 
persisted  on  his  lips.  The  only  notice  Mr. 
Saffron  took  of  him  was  a  jerk  of  the  head 
towards  the  passage,  an  abrupt  and  ungracious 
dismissal,  which,  however,  the  Sergeant  silently 
accepted  and  stumped  out.  The  greeting  re- 
served for  Beaumaroy  was  yastly  different. 
Beaumaroy's  own  cordiality  was  more  than  re- 
ciprocated. It  seemed  impossible  to  doubt  that 
a  genuine  affection  existed  between  the  elder 
and  the  younger  man,  though  the  latter  had  not 
thought  fit  to  mention  the  fact  to  Sergeant 
Hooper. 

"A  tiring  day,  my  dear  Hector,  very  tiring. 
I've  transacted  a  lot  of  business.  But  never 

39 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

mind  that,  it  will  keep.  What  of  your  doings?" 
Having  sat  the  old  man  in  the  big  chair  by 
the  fire,  Beaumaroy  sauntered  across  to  the  door 
of  the  Tower,  locked  it,  and  put  the  key  in  his 
pocket.  Then  he  returned  to  the  fire  and, 
standing  in  front  of  it,  gave  a  lively  and  detailed 
account  of  his  visit  to  Old  Place. 

"They  appear  to  be  pleasant  people,  very 
pleasant.  I  should  like  to  know  them,  if  it  was 
not  desirable  for  me  to  live  an  entirely  secluded 
life."  Mr.  Saffron's  speech  was  very  distinct 
and  clean  cut,  rather  rapid,  high  in  tone  but  not 
disagreeable.  "You  make  pure  fun  of  this  Miss 
Wall,  as  you  do  of  so  many  things,  Hector, 
but — "  he  smiled  up  at  Beaumaroy — "inquisi- 
tiveness  is  not  our  favorite  sin  just  now!" 

"She's  so  indiscriminately  inquisitive  that  it's 
a  thousand  to  one  against  her  really  finding  out 
anything  of  importance,  sir."  Beaumaroy 
sometimes  addressed  his  employer  as  "Mr.  Saf- 
fron," hut  much  more  commonly  he  used  the 
respectful  "sir."  "I  think  I'm  equal  to  putting 
Miss  Delia  Wall  off." 

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MR.   SAFFRON  AT  HOME 


"Still  she  noticed  our  weekly  journeys!" 

"Half  Inkston  goes  to  town  every  day,  sir, 
and  the  rest  three  times,  twice,  or  once  a  week. 
I  called  her  particular  attention  to  the  bag,  and 
told  her  it  was  for  books  from  Mudie's!" 

"Positive  statements  like  that  are  a  mistake." 
Mr.  Saffron  spoke  with  a  sudden  sharpness,  in 
pointed  rebuke.  "If  I  form  a  right  idea  of  that 
woman,  she's  quite  capable  of  going  to  Mudie's 
to  ask  about  us." 

"By  Jove,  you're  right,  sir,  and  I  was  wrong. 
We'd  better  go  and  take  out  a  subscription  to- 
morrow; she'll  hardly  go  so  far  as  to  ask  the 
date  we  started  it." 

"Yes,  let  that  be  done.  And,  remember,  no 
unnecessary  talk."  His  tone  grew  milder,  as 
though  he  were  mollified  by  Beaumaroy's  ready 
submission  to  his  reproof.  "We  have  some 
places  to  call  at  to-morrow,  have  we?" 

"They  said  they'd  have  some  useful  addresses 
ready  for  us,  sir.  I'm  afraid,  though,  that  we're 
exhausting  the  most  obvious  resources." 

"Still,  I  hope  for  a  few  more  good  consign- 
41 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

ments.  I  suppose  you  remain  confident  that  the 
Sergeant  has  no  suspicions  as  regards  that  par- 
ticular aspect  of  the  matter  ?" 

"I'm  sure  of  it,  up  to  the  present.  Of  course 
there  might  be  an  accident,  but  with  him  and 
Mrs.  Wiles  both  off  the  premises  at  night,  it's 
hardly  likely;  and  I  never  let  the  bag  out  of 
my  sight  while  it's  in  the  room  with  them,  hardly 
out  of  my  hand." 

"I  should  like  to  trust  him,  but  it's  hardly 
fair  to  put  such  a  strain  on  his  loyalty." 

"Much  safer  not,  sir,  as  long  as  we're  not 
driven  to  it.  After  all  though,  I  believe  the 
fellow  is  out  to  redeem  his  character,  his  isn't 
an  unblemished  record." 

"But  the  work,  the  physical  labor,  entailed  on 
you,  Hector!" 

"Make  yourself  easy  about  that,  sir.  I'm  as 
strong  as  a  horse.  The  work's  good  for  me. 
Remember  I've  had  four  years'  service." 

Mr.  Saffron  smiled  pensively.  "It  would 
have  been  funny  if  we'd  met  over  there!  You 
and  I!" 

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MR.   SAFFRON  AT  HOME 


"It  would,  sir,"  laughed  Beaumaroy.  "But 
that  could  hardly  have  happened  without  some 
very  curious  accident." 

The  old  man  harked  back.  "Yes,  a  few  more 
good  consignments,  and  we  can  think  in  earnest 
of  your  start."  He  was  warming  his  hands,  thin 
yellowish  hands,  at  the  fire  now,  and  his  gaze 
was  directed  into  it.  Looking  down  on  him, 
Beaumaroy  allowed  a  smile  to  appear  on  his  lips, 
a  queer  smile,  which  seemed  to  be  compounded 
of  affection,  pity,  and  amusement. 

"The  difficulties  there  remain  considerable  for 
the  present,"  he  remarked. 

"They  must  be  overcome."  Once  again  the 
old  man's  voice  became  sharp  and  even  dic- 
tatorial. 

"They  shall  be,  sir,  depend  on  it."  Beau- 
maroy's  air  was  suddenly  confident,  almost 
braggart.  Mr.  Saffron  nodded  approvingly. 
"But,  anyhow,  I  can't  very  well  start  till  favor- 
able news  comes  from " 

"Hush!"    There  was  a  knock  on  the  door. 

"Mrs.  Wiles,  to  lay  the  table,  I  suppose." 
43 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

"Yes  1  Come  in  1"  He  added  hastily  to  Beau- 
maroy,  in  an  undertone.  "Yes,  we  must  wait  for 
that." 

Mrs.  Wiles  entered  as  he  spoke.  She  was  a 
colorless,  negative  kind  of  a  woman,  fair,  fat, 
flabby,  and  forty  or  thereabouts.  She  had  been 
the  ill-used  slave  of  a  local  carpenter,  now  de- 
ceased by  reason  of  over-drinking;  her  nature 
was  to  be  the  slave  of  the  nearest  male  creature, 
not  from  affection  (her  affections  were  anaemic) 
but  rather,  as  it  seemed,  from  an  instinctive  de- 
sire to  shuffle  off  from  herself  any  responsibility. 
But,  at  all  events,  she  was  entirely  free  from 
Miss  Delia  Wall's  proclivity. 

Mr.  Saffron  rose.  "I'll  go  and  wash  my 
hands.  We'll  dine  just  as  we  are,  Hector." 
Beaumaroy  opened  the  door  for  him;  he  acknowl- 
edged the  attention  with  a  little  nod,  and  passed 
out  to  the  staircase  in  the  narrow  passage. 
Beaumaroy  appeared  to  consider  himself  ab- 
solved from  any  preparation,  for  he  returned 
to  the  big  chair  and,  sinking  into  it,  lit  another 
cigarette.  Meanwhile  Mrs.  Wiles  laid  the  table, 

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MR.   SAFFRON  AT  HOME 


and  presently  Sergeant  Hooper  appeared  with  a 
bottle  of  golden-tinted  wine. 

"That,  at  least,  is  the  real  stuff,"  thought 
Beaumaroy  as  he  eyed  it  in  pleasurable  anticipa- 
tion. "Where  the  dear  old  man  got  it,  I  don't 
know;  but  in  itself  it's  almost  worth  all  the 
racket." 

And  really,  in  its  present  stages,  so  far  as  its 
present  developments  went,  the  "racket"  pleased 
him.  It  amused  his  active  brain,  besides  (as  he 
had  said  to  Mr.  Saffron)  exercising  his  active 
body,  though  certainly  in  a  rather  grotesque  and 
bizarre  fashion.  The  attraction  of  it  went 
deeper  than  that.  It  appealed  to  some  of  those 
tendencies  and  impulses  of  his  character  which 
had  earned  such  heavy  censure  from  Major- 
General  Punnit  and  had  produced  so  grave  an 
expression  on  Captain  Alec's  handsome  face 
without,  however,  being,  even  in  that  officer's 
exacting  judgment,  disgraceful.  And,  finally, 
there  was  the  lure  of  unexplored  possibilities, 
not  only  material  and  external,  but  psycholog- 
ical* not  only  touching  what  others  might  do 

45 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

or  what  might  happen  to  them,  but  raising  also 
speculation  as  to  what  he  might  do,  or  what 
might  happen  to  him  at  his  own  hands;  for 
example,  how  far  he  would  flout  authority, 
defy  the  usual,  and  deny  the  accepted.  The  love 
of  rebellion,  of  making  foolish  the  wisdom  of  the 
wise,  of  hampering  the  orderly  and  inexorable 
treatment  of  people  just  as,  according  to  tiie 
best  modern  lights,  they  ought  to  be  treated,  this 
lawless  love  was  strong  in  Beaumaroy.  Not  as 
a  principle;  it  was  the  stronger  for  being  an 
instinct,  a  wayward  instinct  that  might  carry 
him,  he  scarce  knew  where. 

Mr.  Saffron  came  back,  greeted  again  by 
Beaumaroy's  courtly  bow  and  Hooper's  vaguely 
reminiscent  but  slovenly  military  salute.  The 
pair  sat  down  to  a  homely  beefsteak;  but  the 
golden  tinted  wine  gurgled  into  their  glasses. 
But,  before  they  fell  to,  there  was  a  little  in- 
cident. A  sudden,  but  fierce,  anger  seized  old 
Mr.  Saffron.  In  his  harshest  tones  he  rapped 
out  at  the  Sergeant,  "My  knife!  You  careless 
scoundrel,  you  haven't  given  me  my  knife!" 

Beaumaroy  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  muttered 
46 


MR.  SAFFRON  AT  HOME 


exclamation:  "It's  all  my  fault,  sir.  I  forgot 
to  give  it  to  Hooper.  I  always  lock  it  up  when 
I  go  out."  He  went  to  a  little  oak  sideboard 
and  unlocked  a  drawer,  then  came  back  to  Mr. 
Saffron's  side.  "Here  it  is,  and  I  humbly 
apologize." 

"Very  good!  very  good!"  said  the  old  man 
testily,  as  he  took  the  implement. 

"Ain't  anybody  going  to  apologize  to  me?" 
asked  Hooper,  scowling. 

"Oh,  get  out,  Sergeant!"  said  Beaumaroy 
good-naturedly.  "We  can't  bother  about  your 
finer  feelings."  He  glanced  anxiously  at  Mr. 
Saffron.  "All  right  now,  aren't  you,  sir?"  he 
inquired. 

Mr.  Saffron  drank  his  glass  of  wine.  "I  am 
perhaps  too  sensitive  to  any  kind  of  inattention; 
but  it's  not  wholly  unnatural  in  my  position, 
Hector." 

"We  both  desire  to  be  attentive  and  respect- 
ful, sir.  Don't  we,  Hooper?" 

"Oh  my,  yes!"  grinned  the  Sergeant,  showing 
his  very  ugly  teeth.  "It's  only  owing  that  we 
'aven't  quite  been  brought  up  in  royal  palaces." 

47 


CHAPTER  IV 

PROFESSIONAL  ETIQUETTE 

Da.  IRECHESTEE  was  a  man  of  considerable 
attainments  and  an  active,  though  not  very  per- 
severing, intellect.  He  was  widely  read  both  in 
professional  and  general  literature,  but  had 
shrunk  from  the  arduous  path  of  specialization. 
'And  he  shrank  even  more  from  the  drudgery  of 
his  calling.  He  had  private  means,  inherited  in 
middle  life;  his  wife  had  a  respectable  portion; 
there  was,  then,  nothing  in  his  circumstances  to 
thwart  his  tastes  and  tendencies.  He  had  soon 
come  to  see  in  the  late  Dr.  Evans  a  means  of 
relief  rather  than  a  threat  of  rivalry;  even  more 
easily  he  slipped  into  the  same  way  of  regard- 
ing Mary  Arkroyd,  helped  thereto  by  a  linger- 
ing feeling  that,  after  all  and  in  spite  of  all, 
when  it  came  to  really  serious  cases,  a  woman 
could  not,  at  best,  play  more  than  second  fiddle. 

48 


PROFESSIONAL  ETIQUETTE 


So,  as  has  been  seen,  he  patronized  and  en- 
couraged Mary;  he  told  himself  that,  when  she 
had  thoroughly  proved  her  capacity — within  the 
limits  which  he  ascribed  to  it — to  take  her  into 
partnership  would  not  be  a  bad  arrangement. 
True,  he  could  pretty;  well  choose  his  patients 
now;  but  as  senior  partner  he  would  be  able 
to  do  it  completely.  It  was  well-nigh  inconceiv- 
able that,  for  example,  the  Naylors — great 
friends — should  ever  leave  him;  but  he  would 
like  to  be  quite  secure  of  the  pick  of  new  patients, 
some  of  whom  might,  through  ignorance  or 
whim,  call  in  Mary.  There  was  old  Saffron,  for 
instance.  He  was,  in  Irechester's  private 
opinion,  or,  perhaps  it  should  be  said  in  his 
private  suspicions,  an  interesting  case;  yet,  just 
for  that  reason,  unreliable,  and  evidently  ready 
to  take  offense.  It  was  because  of  cases  of  that 
kind  that  he  contemplated  offering  partnership 
to  Mary ;  he  would  both  be  sure  of  keeping  them 
and  able  to  devote  himself  to  them. 

But  his  wife  laughed  at  Mary,  or  at  that  de- 
velopment of  the  feminist  movement  which  had 

49 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

produced  her  and  so  many  other  more  startling 
phenomena.  The  Doctor  was  fond  of  his  wife, 
a  sprightly,  would-be  fashionable,  still  very 
pretty  woman.  But  her  laughter,  and  the 
opinion  it  represented,  were  to  him  the  merest 
crackling  of  thorns  under  a  pot. 

The  fine  afternoon  had  come,  a  few  days  be- 
fore Christmas,  and  he  sat,  side  by  side  with 
Mr.  Naylor,  both  warmly  wrapped  in  coats  and 
rugs,  watching  the  lawn  tennis  at  Old  Place. 
Doctor  Mary  and  Beaumaroy  were  playing  to- 
gether, the  latter  accustoming  himself  to  a 
finger  short  in  gripping  his  racquet,  against 
Cynthia  and  Captain  Alec.  The  Captain  could 
not  yet  cover  the  court  in  his  old  fashion,  but 
his  height  and  reach  made  him  formidable  at 
the  net,  and  Cynthia  was  very  active.  Ten  days 
of  Inkston  air  had  made  a  vast  difference  to 
Cynthia.  And  something  else  was  helping.  It 
required  no  common  loyalty  to  lost  causes  and 
ruined  ideals — it  is  surely  not  harsh  to  indicate 
Captain  Cranster  by  these  terms? — to  resist 
Alec  Naylor.  In  fact  he  had  almost  taken  Cyn- 

50 


PROFESSIONAL  ETIQUETTE 


thia's  breath  away  at  their  first  meeting;  she 
thought  that  she  had  never  seen  anything  quite 
so  magnificent,  or — all  round  and  from  all  points 
of  view,  so  romantic;  his  stature,  handsomeness, 
limp,  renown.  Who  can  be  surprised  at  it? 
Moreover,  he  was  modest  and  simple,  and  no 
fool  within  the  bounds  of  his  experience. 

"She  seems  a  nice  little  girl,  that,  and  uncom- 
mon pretty,"  Naylor  remarked. 

"Yes,  but  he's  a  queer  fish,  I  fancy,"  the 
Doctor  answered,  also  rather  absently.  Their 
minds  were  not  running  on  parallel  lines. 

"My  boy  a  queer  fish?"  Naylor  expostulated 
humorously. 

Irechester  smiled;  his  lips  shut  close  and  tight, 
his  smile  was  quick  but  narrow.  "You're  match- 
making. I  was  diagnosing,"  he  said. 

Naylor  apologized.  "I've  a  desperate  instinct 
to  fit  all  these  young  fellows  up  with  mates  as 
soon  as  possible.  Isn't  it  only  fair?" 

"And  also  extremely  expedient.  But  it's  the 
sort  of  thing  you  can  leave  to  them,  can't  you?" 

"As  to  Beaumaroy — I  suppose  you  meant 
51 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

him,  not  Alec — I  think  you  must  have  been  talk- 
ing to  old  Tom  Punnit — or,  rather,  hearing  him 
talk." 

"Punnit's  general  view  is  sound  enough,  I 
think,  as  to  the  man's  characteristics;  but  he 
doesn't  appreciate  his  cunning." 

"Cunning?"  Naylor  was  openly  astonished. 
"He  doesn't  strike  me  as  a  cunning  man,  not  in 
the  least." 

"Possibly,  possibly,  I  say — not  in  his  ends, 
but  in  his  means  and  expedients.  That's  my 
view.  I  just  put  it  on  record,  Naylor.  I  never 
like  talking  too  much  about  my  cases." 

"Beaumaroy's  not  your  patient,  is  he?" 

"His  employer,  I  suppose  he's  his  employer, 
Saffron  is.  Well,  I  thought  it  advisable  to  see 
Saffron  alone.  I  tried  to.  Saffron  was  re- 
luctant, this  man  here  openly  against  it.  Next 
time  I  shall  insist.  Because  I  think,  mind  you, 
at  present  I  no  more  than  think,  that  there's 
more  in  Saffron's  case  than  meets  the  eye." 

Naylor  glanced  at  him,  smiling.  "You  fellows 
are  always  starting  hares,"  he  said. 

52 


PROFESSIONAL  ETIQUETTE 


"Game  and  set!"  cried  Captain  Alec,  and — 
to  his  partner — "Thank  you  very  much  for  car- 
rying a  cripple." 

But  Irechester's  attention  remained  fixed  on 
Beaumaroy,  and  consequently  on  Doctor  Mary, 
for  the  partners  did  not  separate  at  the  end  of 
their  game,  but,  after  putting  on  their  coats, 
began  to  walk  up  and  down  together  on  the  other 
side  of  the  court,  in  animated  conversation, 
though  Beaumaroy  did  most  of  the  talking, 
Mary  listening  in  her  usual  grave  and  composed 
manner.  Now  and  then  a  word  or  two  reached 
Irechester's  ears,  old  Naylor  seemed  to  have 
fallen  into  a  reverie  over  his  cigar,  and  it  must 
be  confessed  that  he  took  no  pains  not  to  over- 
hear. Once  at  least  he  plainly  heard  "Saffron" 
from  Beaumaroy;  he  thought  that  the  same  lips 
spoke  his  own  name,  and  he  was  sure  that  Doctor 
Mary's  did.  Beaumaroy  was  speaking  rather 
urgently,  and  making  gestures  with  his  hands; 
it  seemed  as  though  he  were  appealing  to  his 
companion  in  some  difficulty  or  perplexity.  Ire- 

53 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

Chester's  mouth  was  severely  compressed  and  his 
glance  suspicious  as  he  watched. 

The  scene  was  ended  by  Gertie  Naylor  calling 
these  laggards  in  to  tea,  to  which  meal  the  rest 
of  the  company  had  already  betaken  itself. 

At  the  tea  table  they  found  General  Punnit 
discoursing  on  war,  and  giving  "idealists"  what 
idealists  usually  get.  The  General  believed  in 
war ;  he  pressed  the  biological  argument,  did  not 
flinch  when  Mr.  Naylor  dubbed  him  the  "Brit- 
ish Bernhardi,"  and  invoked  the  support  of 
"these  medical  gentleman"  (this  with  a  smile  at 
Doctor  Mary's  expense)  for  his  point  of  view. 
War  tested,  proved,  braced,  hardened;  it  was 
nature's  crucible;  it  was  the  antidote  to  softness 
and  sentimentality;  it  was  the  vindication  of  the 
strong,  the  elimination  of  the  weak. 

"I  suppose  there's  a  lot  in  all  that,  sir,"  said 
'Alec  Itfaylor,  "but  I  don't  think  the  effect  on 
one's  character  is  always  what  you  say.  I  think 
I've  come  out  of  this  awful  business  a  good  deal 
softer  than  I  went  in."  He  laughed  in  an 
apologetic  way.  "More,  more  sentimental,  if  you 

54 


PROFESSIONAL  ETIQUETTE 


like,  with  more  feeling,  don't  you  know,  for 
human  life,  and  suffering,  and  so  on.  I've  seen 
a  great  many  men  killed,  but  the  sight  hasn't 
made  me  any  more  ready  to  kill  men.  In  fact, 
quite  the  reverse."  He  smiled  again.  "Really 
sometimes,  for  a  row  of  pins,  I'd  have  turned 
conscientious  objector." 

Mrs.  Naylor  looked  apprehensively  at  the 
General:  would  he  explode?  No,  he  took  it  quite 
quietly.  "You're  a  man  who  can  afford  to  say 
it,  Alec,"  he  remarked,  with  a  nod  that  was  al- 
most approving. 

Naylor  looked  affectionately  at  his  son  and 
turned  to  Beaumaroy.  "And  what's  the  war 
done  to  you?"  he  asked.  And  this  question  did 
draw  from  the  General,  if  not  an  explosion,  at 
least  a  rather  contemptuous  smile:  Beaumaroy 
had  earned  no  right  to  express  opinions! 

But  express  one  he  did,  and  with  his  habitual 
air  of  candor.  "I  believe  it's  destroyed  ever^ 
scruple  I  ever  had!" 

"Mr.  Beaumaroy!"  exclaimed  his  hostess, 
55 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

scandalized;  while  the  two  girls,  Cynthia  and 
Gertie,  laughed. 

"I  mean  it.  Can  you  bJe  human  life  treated 
as  dirt,  absolutely  as  cheap  as  dirt,  for  three 
years,  and  come  out  thinking  it  worth  anything? 
Can  you  fight  for  your  own  hand,  right  or 
wrong?  Oh,  yes,  right  or  wrong,  in  the  end,  and 
it's  no  good  blinking  it.  Can  you  do  that  for 
three  years  in  wai,  and  then  hesitate  to  fight  for 
your  own  hand,  right  or  wrong,  in  peace  ?  Who 
really  cares  for  right  or  wrong,  anyhow?" 

A  pause  ensued — rather  an  uncomfortable 
pause.  There  was  a  raw  sincerity  in  Beau- 
maroy's  utterance  that  made  it  a  challenge. 

"I  honestly  think  we  did  care  about  the  rights 
and  wrongs — we  in  England,"  said  Naylor. 

"That  was  certainly  so  at  the  beginning," 
Irechester  agreed. 

Beaumaroy  took  him  up  smartly.  "Aye,  at 
the  beginning.  But  what  about  when  our  blood 
got  up?  What  then?  Would  we,  in  our  hearts, 
rather  have  been  right  and  got  a  licking,  or 
wrong  and  given  one?" 

56 


PROFESSIONAL  ETIQUETTE 


"A  searching  question!"  mused  old  Naylor. 
"What  say  you,  Tom  Punnit?" 

"It  never  occurred  to  me  to  put  the  question," 
the  General  answered  brusquely. 

"May  I  ask  why  not,  sir?"  said  Beaumaroy 
respectfully. 

"Because  I  believed  in  God.  I  knew  that  we 
were  right,  and  I  knew  that  we  should  win." 

"Are  we  in  theology  now,  or  still  in  biology?" 
asked  Irechester,  rather  acidly. 

"You're  getting  out  of  my  depth  anyhow," 
smiled  Mrs.  Naylor.  "And  I'm  sure  the  girls 
must  be  bewildered." 

"Mamma,  I've  done  biology!" 

"And  many  people  think  they've  done  the- 
ology !"  chuckled  Naylor.  "Done  it  completely !" 

"I've  raised  a  pretty  argument!"  said  Beau- 
maroy, smiling.  "I'm  sorry!  I  only  meant  to 
answer  your  question  about  the  effect  the  whole 
thing  has  had  on  myself." 

"Even  your  answer  to  that  was  pretty  start- 
ling, Mr.  Beaumaroy,"  said  Doctor  Mary,  smil- 
ing too.  "You  gave  us  to  understand  that  it 

57 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

had  obliterated  for  you  all  distinctions  of  right 
and  wrong,  didn't  you?" 

"Did  I  go  as  far  as  that?"  he  laughed.  "Then 
I'm  open  to  the  remark  that  they  can't  have 
been  very  strong  at  first." 

"Now  don't  destroy  the  general  interest  of 
your  thesis,"  Naylor  implored.  "It's  quite  likely 
that  yours  is  a  case  as  common  as  Alec's,  or 
even  commoner.  'A  brutal  and  licentious  sol- 
diery,' isn't  that  a  classic  phrase  in  our  histories? 
All  the  same,  I  fancy  Mr.  Beaumaroy  does 
himself  less  than  justice."  He  laughed.  "We 
shall  be  able  to  judge  of  that  when  we  know 
him  better." 

"At  all  events,  Miss  Gertie,  look  out  that  I 
don't  fake  the  score  at  tennis!"  said  Beaumaroy. 

"A  man  might  be  capable  of  murder,  but  not 
capable  of  that,"  said  Alec. 

"A  truly  British  sentiment!"  cried  his  father. 
"Tom,  we  have  got  back  to  the  national  ideals." 

The  discussion  ended  in  laughter,  and  the  talk 
turned  to  lighter  matters ;  but,  as  Mary  Arkroyd 
drove  Cynthia  home  across  the  heath,  her 

58 


PROFESSIONAL  ETIQUETTE 


thoughts  returned  to  it.  The  two  men,  the  two 
soldiers,  seemed  to  have  given  an  authentic  ac- 
count of  what  their  experience  had  done  to  them. 
Both,  as  she  saw  the  case,  had  been  moved  to 
pity,  horror,  and  indignation  that  such  things 
should  be  done,  or  should  have  to  be  done,  in 
the  world.  After  that  point  came  the  divergence. 
The  higher  nature  had  been  raised,  the  lower 
debased;  Alec  Naylor's  sympathies  had  been 
sharpened  and  sensitized;  Beaumaroy's  blunted. 
Where  the  one  had  found  ideals  and  incentives, 
the  other  found  despair — a  despair  that  issued 
in  excuses  and  denied  high  standards.  And  the 
finer  min.d  belonged  to  the  finer  soldier;  that 
she  knew,  for  Gertie  had  told  her  General 
Punnit's  story,  and,  however  much  she  might 
discount  it  as  the  tale  of  an  elderly  martinet, 
yet  it  stood  for  something,  for  something  that 
could  never  be  attributed  to  Alec  Naylor. 

And  yet,  for  her  mind  traveled  back  to  her 
earlier  talk  by  the  tennis  court,  Beaumaroy  had 
a  conscience,  had  feelings.  He  was  fond  of  old 
Mr.  Saffron;  he  felt  a  responsibility  for  him — 

59 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

felt  it,  indeed,  keenly.  Or  was  he,  under  all  that 
seeming  openness,  a  consummate  hypocrite? 
Did  he  value  Mr.  Saffron  only  as  a  milch  cow, 
the  doting  giver  of  a  large  salary?  Was  his 
only  desire  to  humor  him,  keep  him  in  good 
health  and  temper,  and  use  him  to  his  own  profit  ? 
A  puzzling  man,  but,  at  all  events,  cutting  a 
poor  figure  beside  Alec  Naylor,  about  whom 
there  could  circle  no  clouds  of  doubt.  Doctor 
Mary's  learning  and  gravity  did  not  prevent  her 
from  drawing  a  very  heroic  and  rather  romantic 
figure  of  Captain  Alec — notwithstanding  that 
she  sometimes  found  him  rather  hard  to  talk  to. 

She  felt  Cynthia's  arm  steal  around  her  waist, 
and  Cynthia  said  softly,  "I  did  enjoy  my  after- 
noon. Can  we  go  again  soon,  Mary?" 

Mary  glanced  at  her.  Cynthia  laughed  and 
blushed.  "Isn't  he  splendid?"  Cynthia  murmured. 
"But  I  don't  like  Mr.  Beaumaroy,  do  you?" 

"I  say  yes  to  the  first  question,  but  I'm  not 
quite  ready  to  answer  the  second,"  said  Mary 

with  a  laugh. 

*  *  *  m 

60 


PROFESSIONAL  ETIQUETTE 


Three  days  later,  on  Christmas  Eve,  one  whom 
Jeanne,  who  caught  sight  of  him  in  the  hall, 
described  as  being  all  there  was  possible  of 
ugliness,  delivered  (with  a  request  for  an  im- 
mediate answer)  the  following  note  for  Mary 
Arkroyd: 

DEAR  DR.  ARKROYD: 

Mr.  Saffron  is  unwell,  and  I  have  insisted  that  he 
must  see  a  doctor.  So  much  he  has  yielded,  after  a 
fight!  But  nothing  will  induce  him  to  see  Dr.  Irechester 
again.  On  this  point  I  tried  to  reason  with  him,  but  in 
vain.  He  is  obstinate  and  resolved.  I  am  afraid  that  I 
am  putting  you  in  a  difficult  and  disagreeable  position, 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  I  have  no  alternative  but  to  ask 
you  to  call  on  him  professionally.  I  hope  that  Dr.  Ire- 
chester will  not  be  hurt  by  a  whim  which  is,  no  doubt, 
itself  merely  a  symptom  of  disordered  nerves,  for  Dr. 
Irechester  has  been  most  attentive  and  very  successful 
hitherto  in  dealing  with  the  dear  old  gentleman.  But  my 
first  duty  is  to  Mr.  Saffron.  If  it  will  ease  matters  at  all, 
pray  hold  yourself  at  liberty  to  show  this  note  to  Dr. 
Irechester.  May  I  beg  you  to  be  kind  enough  to  call  at 
your  earliest  convenience,  though  it  is,  alas,  a  rough  even- 
ing to  ask  you  to  come  out? 

Yours  very  faithfully, 

HECTOR  BEAUMAROY. 

61 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

"How  very  awkward!"  exclaimed  Mary.  She 
had  prided  herself  on  a  rigorous  abstention  from 
"poaching";  she  fancied  that  men  were  very 
ready  to  accuse  women  of  not  "playing  the 
game"  and  had  been  resolved  to  give  no  color  to 
such  an  accusation.  "Mr.  Saffron  has  senl  for 
me — professionally.  He's  ill,  it  seems,"  she  said 
to  Cynthia. 

"Why  shouldn't  he?" 

"Because  he  is  a  patient  of  Dr.  Irechester,  not 
a  patient  of  mine." 

"But  people  often  change  their  doctors,  don't 
they?  He  thinks  you're  cleverer,  I  suppose,  and 
I  expect  you  are  really." 

There  was  no  use  in  expounding  professional 
etiquette  to  Cynthia.  Mary  had  to  decide  the 
point  for  herself,  and  quickly ;  the  old  man  might 
be  seriously  ill.  Beaumaroy  had  said  at  the 
Naylors'  that  his  attacks  were  sometimes  alarm- 
ing. 

Suddenly  she  recollected  that  he  had  also 
seemed  to  hint  that  they  were  more  alarming 
than  Irechester  appeared  to  appreciate;  she  had 

62 


PROFESSIONAL  ETIQUETTE 


not  taken  much  notice  of  that  hint  at  the  time, 
but  now  it  recurred  to  her  very  distinctly.  There 
was  no  suggestion  of  the  sort  in  Beaumaroy's 
letter.  Beaumaroy  had  written  a  letter  that 
could  be  shown  to  Irechester!  Was  that  dis- 
honesty, or  only  a  pardonable  diplomacy? 

"I  suppose  I  must  go,  and  explain  to  Dr. 
Irechester  afterwards."  She  rang  the  bell,  to 
recall  the  maid,  and  gave  her  answer.  "Say  I 
will  be  round  as  soon  as  possible.  Is  the  mes- 
senger walking?" 

"He's  got  a  bicycle,  Miss." 

"All  right.  I  shall  be  there  almost  as  soon 
as  he  is." 

She  seemed  to  have  no  alternative,  just  as 
Beaumaroy  had  none.  Yet  while  she  put  on 
her  mackintosh,  it  was  very  wet  and  misty,  got 
out  her  car,  and  lit  her  lamps,  her  face  was  still 
fretful  and  her  mind  disturbed.  For  now,  as 
she  looked  back  on  it,  Beaumaroy's  conversation 
with  her  at  Old  Place  seemed  just  a  prelude  to 
this  summons,  and  meant  to  prepare  her  for  it. 
Perhaps  that  too  was  pardonable  diplomacy, 

63 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

and  no  reference  to  it  could  be  expected  in  a 
letter  which  she  was  at  liberty  to  show  to  Dr. 
Irechester.  She  wondered,  uncomfortably,  how 
Irechester  would  take  it. 


CHAPTER  V 

A  FAMILIAR  IMPLEMENT 

As  Mary  brought  her  car  to  a  stand  at  the 
gate  of  the  little  front  garden  of  Tower  Cottage, 
she  saw,  through  the  mist,  Beaumaroy's  corru- 
gated face ;  he  was  standing  in  the  doorway,  and 
the  light  in  the  passage  revealed  it.  It  seemed 
to  her  to  wear  a  triumphant  impish  look,  but 
this  vanished  as  he  advanced  to  meet  her,  relieved 
her  of  the  neat  black  handbag  which  she  always 
carried  with  her  on  her  visits,  and  suggested 
gravely  that  she  should  at  once  go  upstairs  and 
see  her  patient. 

"He's  quieter  now,"  he  said.  "The  mere  news 
that  you  were  coming  had  a  soothing  effect.  Let 
me  show  you  the  way."  He  led  her  upstairs  and 
into  a  small  room  on  the  first  floor,  nakedly  fur- 
nished with  necessities,  but  with  a  cheery  fire 
blazing  in  the  grate. 

65 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

Old  Mr.  Saffron  lay  in  bed,  propped  up  by 
pillows.  His  silver  hair  strayed  from  under  a 
nightcap;  he  wore  a  light  blue  bedroom  jacket; 
its  color  matched  that  of  his  restless  eyes;  his 
arms  were  under  the  clothes  from  the  elbows 
down.  He  was  rather  flushed,  but  did  not  look 
seriously  ill,  and  greeted  Doctor  Mary  with  dig- 
nified composure. 

"I'll  see  Dr.  Arkroyd  alone,  Hector."  Beau- 
maroy  gave  the  slightest  little  jerk  of  his  head, 
and  the  old  man  added  quickly,  "I  am  sure  of 
myself,  quite  sure." 

The  phrase  sounded  rather  an  odd  one  to 
Mary,  but  Beaumaroy  accepted  the  assurance 
with  a  nod:  "All  right,  I'll  wait  downstairs,  sir. 
I  hope  you'll  bring  me  a  good  account  of  him, 
Doctor."  So  he  left  Mary  to  make  her  examina- 
tion; going  downstairs,  he  shook  his  head  once, 
pursed  up  his  lips,  and  then  smiled  doubtfully, 
as  a  man  may  do  when  he  has  made  up  his  mind 
to  take  a  chance. 

When  Mary  rejoined  him,  she  asked  for  pen 
and  paper,  wrote  a  prescription,  and  requested 

66 


A  FAMILIAR  IMPLEMENT 


that  Beaumaroy's  man  should  take  *t  to  the 
chemist's.  He  went  out,  to  give  it  to  the  Ser- 
geant, and,  when  he  came  back,  found  her  seated 
in  the  big  chair  by  the  fire. 

"The  present  little  attack  is  nothing,  Mr. 
Beaumaroy,"  she  said.  "Stomachic — with  a  little 
fever;  if  he  takes  what  I've  prescribed,  he  ought 
to  be  all  right  in  the  morning.  But  I  suppose 
you  know  that  there  is  valvular  disease — quite 
definite?  Didn't  Dr.  Irechester  tell  you?" 

"Yes;  but  he  said  there  was  no  particular — no 
immediate  danger." 

"If  he's  kept  quiet  and  free  from  worry. 
Didn't  he  advise  that?" 

"Yes,"  Beaumaroy  admitted,  "he  did.  That's 
the  only  thing  you  find  wrong  with  him,  Doctor?" 

Beaumaroy  was  standing  on  the  far  side  of  the 
table,  his  finger-tips  resting  lightly  on  it.  He 
looked  across  at  Mary  with  eyes  candidly  in- 
quiring. 

"I've  found  nothing  else  so  far.  I  suppose 
he's  got  nothing  to  worry  him?" 

"Not  really,  I  think.  He  fusses  a  bit  about 
67 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

his  affairs."  He  smiled.  "We  go  to  London 
every  week  to  fuss  about  his  affairs;  he's  always 
changing  his  investments,  taking  his  money  out 
of  one  thing  and  putting  it  in  another,  you  know. 
Old  people  get  like  that  sometimes,  don't  they'* 
I'm  a  novice  at  that  kind  of  thing,  never  having 
had  any  money  to  play  with;  but  I'm  bound  to 
say  that  he  seems  to  know  very  well  what  he's 
about." 

"Do  you  know  anything  of  his  history  or  his 
people?  Has  he  any  relations?" 

"I  know  very  little.  I  don't  think  he  has  any, 
any  real  relations,  so  to  speak.  There  are,  I 
believe,  some  cousins,  distant  cousins,  whom  he 
hates.  In  fact,  a  lonely  old  bachelor,  Dr. 
Arkroyd." 

Mary  gave  a  little  laugh  and  became  less  pro- 
fessional. "He's  rather  an  old  dear!  He  uses 
funny  stately  phrases.  He  said  I  might  speak 
quite  openly  to  you,  ae  you  were  closely  attached 
to  his  person!" 

"Sounds  rather  like  a  newspaper,  doesn't  it? 
He  does  talk  like  that  sometimes."  Beaumaroy 

68 


A  FAMILIAR  IMPLEMENT 


moved  round  the  table,  came  close  to  the  fire, 
and  stood  there,  smiling  down  at  Mary. 

"He's  very  fond  of  you,  I  think,"  she  went  on. 

"He  reposes  entire  confidence  in  me,"  said 
Beaumaroy,  with  a  touch  of  assumed  pompous- 
ness. 

"Those  were  his  very  words!"  cried  Mary, 
laughing  again.  "And  he  said  it  just  in  that 
way!  How  clever  of  you  to  guess!" 

"Not  so  very.  He  says  it  to  me  six  times  a 
week." 

Mary  had  risen,  about  to  take  her  leave,  but 
to  her  surprise  Beaumaroy  went  on  quickly,  with 
one  of  his  confidential  smiles,  "And  now  I'm 
going  to  show  you  that  I  have  the  utmost  con- 
fidence in  you.  Please  sit  down  again,  Dr. 
Arkroyd.  The  matter  concerns  your  patient 
just  as  much  as  myself,  or  I  wouldn't  trouble 
you  with  it,  at  any  rate  I  shouldn't  venture  to 
so  early  in  our  acquaintance.  I  want  you  to 
consider  yourself  as  Mr.  Saffron's  medical  ad- 
viser, and,  also,  to  try  to  imagine  yourself  my 
friend." 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

"I've  every  inclination  to  be  your  friend,  but 
I  hardly  know  you,  Mr.  Beaumaroy." 

"And  feel  a  few  doubts  about  me?  From 
what  you've  heard  from  myself,  and  perhaps 
from  others?" 

The  wind  swished  outside;  save  for  that,  the 
little  room  seemed  very  still.  The  professional 
character  of  the  interview  did  not  save  it,  for 
Mary  Arkroyd,  from  a  sudden  and  rather  un- 
welcome sense  of  intimacy,  of  an  intimacy 
thrust  upon  her,  though  not  so  much  by  her 
companion  as  by  circumstances.  She  answered 
rather  stiffly,  "Perhaps  I  have  some  doubts." 

"You  detect,  very  acutely,  that  I  have  a  great 
influence  over  Mr.  Saffron.  You  ask,  very 
properly,  whether  he  has  relations.  I  think  you 
threw  out  a  feeler  about  his  money  affairs, 
whether  he  had  anything  to  worry  about  was 
your  phrase,  wasn't  it?  Am  I  misinterpreting 
what  was  in  your  mind?" 

As  he  spoke,  he  offered  her  a  cigarette  from 
a  box  on  the  mantelpiece.  She  took  one  and  lit 
it  at  the  top  of  the  lamp-chimney;  then  she  sat 

70 


A  FAMILIAR  IMPLEMENT 


down  again  in  the  big  chair;  she  had  not  accepted 
his  earlier  invitation  to  resume  her  seat. 

"It  was  proper  for  me  to  put  those  questions, 
Mr.  Beaumaroy.  Mr.  Saffron  is  not  a  sound 
man,  and  he's  old.  In  normal  conditions  his 
relations  should  at  least  be  warned  of  the  posi- 
tion." 

"Exactly,"  Beaumaroy  assented  with  an  ap- 
pearance of  eagerness.  "But  he  hates  them.  Any 
suggestion  that  they  have  any  sort  of  claim  on 
him  raises  strong  resentment  in  him.  I've  known 
old  men,  old  moneyed  men,  like  that  before, 
and  no  doubt  you  have.  Well  now,  you'll  begin 
to  see  the  difficulty  of  my  position.  I'll  put  the 
case  to  you  quite  bluntly.  Suppose  Mr.  Saffron, 
having  this  liking  for  me,  this  confidence  in  me, 
living  here  with  me  alone,  except  for  servants; 
being,  as  one  might  say,  exposed  to  my  in- 
fluence ;  suppose  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  make 
a  will  in  my  favor,  to  leave  me  all  his  money. 
It's  quite  a  considerable  sum,  so  far  as  our 
Wednesday  doings  enable  me  to  judge.  Sup- 
j>ose  that  happened,  how  should  I  stand  in  your 

71 


opinion,  Dr.  Arkroyd?  But  wait  a  moment  still. 
Suppose  that  my  career  has  not  been  very,  well, 
resplendent;  that  my  army  record  is  only  so-so; 
that  I've  devoted  myself  to  him  with  remarkable 
assiduity,  as  in  fact  I  have;  that  I  might  be 
called,  quite  plausibly,  an  adventurer.  Well, 
propounding  that  will,  how  should  I  stand  be- 
fore the  world  and,  if  necessary  (he  shrugged 
his  shoulders),  the  Court?" 

Mary  sat  silent  for  a  moment  or  two.  Beau- 
maroy  knelt  down  by  the  fire,  rearranged  the 
logs  of  wood  which  were  smouldering  there,  and 
put  on  a  couple  more.  From  that  position, 
looking  into  the  grate,  he  added,  "And  the 
change  of  doctors?  It  was  he,  of  course,  who 
insisted  on  it,  but  I  can  see  a  clever  lawyer  using 
that  against  me  too.  Can't  you,  Dr.  Arkroyd?" 

"I'm  sure  I  wish  you  hadn't  had  to  make  the 
change!"  exclaimed  Mary. 

"So  do  I;  though,  mind  you,  I'm  not  pretend- 
ing that  Irechester  is  a  favorite  of  mine,  any 
more  than  he  is  of  my  old  friend's.  Still,  there 
it  is.  I've  no  right,  perhaps,  to  press  my  ques- 

72 


A  FAMILIAR  IMPLEMENT 


tion,  but  your  opinion  would  be  of  real  yalue  to 
me." 

"I  see  no  reason  to  think  that  he's  not  quite 
competent  to  make  a  will,"  said  Doctor  Mary. 
"And  no  real  reason  why  he  shouldn't  prefer 
you  to  distant  relations  whom  he  dislikes." 

"Ah,  no  real  reason ;  that's  what  you  say !  You 
mean  that  people  would  impute- " 

Mary  Arkroyd  had  her  limitations — of  expe- 
rience, of  knowledge,  of  intuition.  But  she  did 
not  lack  courage. 

"I  have  given  you  my  professional  opinion. 
It  is  that,  so  far  as  I  see,  Mr.  Saffron  is  of  per- 
fectly sound  understanding,  and  capable  of 
making  a  valid  will.  You  did  me  the  honor " 

"No,  no!"  he  interrupted  in  a  low  but  rather 
strangely  vehement  protest.  "I  begged  the 
favor " 

"As  you  like!  The  favor  then,  of  asking  me 
to  give  you  my  opinion  as  your  friend,  as  well 
as  my  view  as  Mr.  Saffron's  doctor." 

Beaumaroy  did  not  rise  from  his  knees,  but 
turned  his  face  towards  her;  the  logs  had  blazed 

73 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

up,  and  his  eyes  looked  curiously  bright  in  the 
glare,  themselves,  as  it  were,  afire. 

"In  my  opinion  a  man  of  sensitive  honor  would 
prefer  that  that  will  should  not  be  made,  Mr. 
Beaumaroy,"  said  Mary  steadily. 

Beaumaroy  appeared  to  consider.  "I'm  a  bit 
posed  by  that  point  of  view,  Dr.  Arkroyd,"  he 
said  at  last.  "Either  the  old  man's  sane — com- 
pos mentis,  don't  you  call  it? — or  he  isn't.  If 
he  is " 

"I  know.    But  I  feel  that  way  about  it." 

"You'd  have  to  give  evidence  for  me!"  He 
raised  his  brows  and  smiled  at  her. 

"There  can  be  undue  influence  without  actual 
want  of  mental  competence,  I  think." 

"I  don't  know  whether  my  influence  is  undue. 
I  believe  I'm  the  only  creature  alive  who  cares 
twopence  for  the  poor  old  gentleman." 

"I  know!  I  know!  Mr.  Beaumaroy,  your 
position  is  very  difficult.  I  see  that.  It  really 
is.  But,  would  you  take  the  money  for  yourself? 
Aren't  you — well,  rather  in  the  position  of  a 
trustee?" 

74 


A  FAMILIAR  IMPLEMENT 


"Who  for?  The  hated  cousins?  What's  the 
reason  in  that?" 

"They  may  be  very  good  people  really.  Old 
men  take  fancies,  as  you  said  yourself.  And  they 
may  have  built  on " 

"Stepping  into  a  dead  man's  shoes?  I  dare 
say.  Why  mayn't  I  build  on  it  too?  Why  not 
my  hand  against  the  other  fellow's?" 

"That's  what  you  learnt  from  the  war!  You 
said  so — at  Old  Place.  Captain  Naylor  said 
something  different." 

"Suppose  Alec  Naylor  and  I,  a  hero  and  a 
damaged  article,"  he  smiled  at  Mary,  and  she 
smiled  back  with  a  sudden  enjoyment  of  the 
humorous  yet  bitter  tang  in  his  voice,  "loved 
the  same  woman,  and  I  had  a  chance  of  her. 
Am  I  to  give  it  up?" 

"Really  we're  getting  a  long  way  from  medi- 
cine, Mr.  Beaumaroyl" 

"Oh,  you're  a  general  practitioner!  Wise  on 
all  subjects  under  heaven!  Conceive  yourself 
hesitating  between  him  and  me " 

Mary  laughed  frankly.     "How  absurd  you 
75 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

are !    If  you  must  go  on  talking,  talk  seriously." 

"But  why  am  I  absurd?" 

"Because,  if  I  were  a  marrying  woman,  which 
I'm  not,  I  shouldn't  hesitate  between  you  and 
Captain  Naylor,  not  for  a  minute." 

"You'd  jump  at  me?" 

Laughing  again,  his  eyes  had  now  a  schoolboy 
merriment  in  them,  Mary  rose  from  the  big  chair. 
"At  him,  if  I'm  not  being  impolite,  Mr.  Beau- 
maroy." 

They  stood  face  to  face.  For  the  first  time 
for  several  years — Mary's  girlhood  had  not  been 
altogether  empty  of  sentimental  episodes — she 
blushed  under  a  man's  glance,  because  it  was  a 
man's.  At  this  event,  of  which  she  was  acutely 
conscious  and  at  which  she  was  intensely  irri- 
tated, she  drew  herself  up,  with  an  attempt  to 
return  to  her  strictly  professional  manner. 

"I  don't  find  you  the  least  impolite,  Dr.  Ark- 
royd,"  said  Beaumaroy. 

It  was  impudent,  yet  gay,  dexterous,  and 
elusive  enough  to  avoid  reproof.  With  no  more 
than  a  little  shake  of  her  head  and  a  light  yet 

76 


A  FAMILIAR  IMPLEMENT 


embarrassed  laugh,  Mary  moved  toward  the 
door,  her  way  lying  between  the  table  and  an  old 
oak  sideboard,  which  stood  against  the  wall. 
Some  plates,  knives,  and  other  articles  of  the 
table  lay  strewn,  none  too  tidily,  about  it.  Beau- 
maroy  followed  her,  smiling  complacently,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets. 

Suddenly  Mary  came  to  a  stop  and  pointed 
with  her  finger  at  the  sideboard,  turning  her  face 
towards  her  companion.  At  the  same  instant 
Beaumaroy's  right  hand  shot  out  from  his  pocket 
towards  the  sideboard,  as  though  to  snatch  up 
something  from  it.  Then  he  drew  the  hand  as 
swiftly  back  again;  but  his  eyes  watched  Mary's 
with  an  alert  and  suspicious  gaze.  That  was 
for  a  second  only;  then  his  face  resumed  its 
amused  and  nonchalant  expression.  But  the 
movement  of  the  hand  and  the  look  of  the  eyes 
had  not  escaped  Mary's  attention;  her  voice  be- 
trayed some  surprise  as  she  said: 

"It's  only  that  I  just  happened  to  notice  that 
combination  knife-and-fork  lying  there,  and  I 

wondered  who " 

77 


THE  SECRE1   OF  THE  TOWER 

The  article  in  question  lay  among  some  half- 
dozen  ordinary  knives  and  forks.  It  was  of  a 
kind  quite  familiar  to  Doctor  Mary  from  her 
hospital  experience,  a  fork  on  one  side,  a  knife- 
blade  on  the  other;  an  implement  made  for 
people  who  could  command  the  use  of  only  one 
hand. 

"Surely  you've  noticed  my  hand?"  He  drew 
his  right  hand  again  from  the  pocket  to  which 
he  had  so  quickly  returned  it.  "I  used  to  use 
that  in  hospital,  when  I  was  bandaged  up.  But 
that's  a  long  while  ago  now,  and  I  can't  think 
why  Hooper's  left  it  lying  there." 

The  account  was  plausible,  and  entirely  the 
same  might  now  be  said  of  his  face  and  manner. 
But  Mary  had  seen  the  dart  of  his  hand  and  the 
sudden  alertness  in  his  eyes.  Her  own  rested 
on  him  for  a  moment  with  inquiry,  for  the  first 
time  with  a  hint  of  distrust.  "I  see!"  she  mur- 
mured vaguely,  and,  turning  away  from  him, 
pursued  her  way  to  the  door.  Beaumaroy  fol- 
lowed her  with  a  queer  smile  on  Ms  lips;  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders  once,  very  slightly. 

A  constraint  had  fallen  on  Mary.  She  allowed 
78 


A  FAMILIAR  IMPLEMENT 


herself  to  be  escorted  to  the  car  and  helped  into 
it  in  silence.  Beaumaroy  made  no  effort  to  force 
the  talk,  possibly  by  reason  of  the  presence  of 
Sergeant  Hooper,  who  had  arrived  back  from 
the  chemist's  with  the  medicine  for  Mr.  Saffron 
just  as  Mary  and  Beaumaroy  came  out  of  the 
hall  door.  He  stood  by  his  bicycle,  drawing  just 
a  little  aside  to  let  them  pass,  but  not  far  enough 
to  prevent  the  light  from  the  passage  showing 
up  his  ill-favored  countenance. 

"Well,  good-bye,  Dr.  Arkroyd.  I'll  see  how 
he  is  to-morrow,  and  ask  you  to  be  kind  enough 
to  call  again,  if  it  seems  advisable.  And  a  thou- 
sand thanks." 

"Good-night,  Mr.  Beaumaroy." 

She  started  the  car.  Beaumaroy  walked  back 
to  the  hall  door.  Mary  glanced  behind  her  once, 
and  saw  him  standing  by  it,  again  framed  by 
the  light  behind  him,  as  she  had  seen  him  on  her 
arrival.  But,  this  time,  within  the  four  corners 
of  the  same  frame  was  included  the  forbidding 
visage  of  Sergeant  Hooper. 

Beaumaroy  returned  to  the  fire  in  the  parlor; 
Hooper,  leaving  his  bicycle  in  the  passage,  fol- 

79 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

lowed  him  into  the  room  and  put  the  medicine 
bottle  on  the  table.  Smiling  at  him,  Beaumaroy 
pointed  at  the  combination  knife-and-fork. 

"Is  it  your  fault  or  mine  that  that  damned 
thing's  lying  there?"  he  asked. 

"Yours,"  answered  the  Sergeant  without  hesi- 
tation and  with  his  habitual  surliness.  "I  cleaned 
it  and  put  it  out  for  you  to  lock  away,  as  usual. 
Suppose  you  went  and  forgot  it,  sirl" 

Beaumaroy  shook  his  head  in  self-condemna- 
tion and  a  humorous  dismay.  "That's  it  I  I 
went  and  forgot  it,  Sergeant.  And  I  think,  I 
rather  think,  that  Doctor  Mary  smells  a  rat, 
though  she  is,  at  present,  far  from  guessing  the 
color  of  the  animal!" 

The  words  sounded  scornful;  they  were  spoken 
for  the  Sergeant  as  well  as  for  himself.  He  was 
looking  amused  and  kindly,  even  rather  tenderly 
amused;  as  though  liking  and  pity  were  the 
emotions  which  most  actively  survived  his  first 
private  conversation  with  Doctor  Mary,  in  spite 
of  that  mishap  of  the  combination  knife-and- 
fork. 

80 


CHAPTER  VI 

ODD  STORY  OF  CAPTAIN  DUGGLE 

CHRISTMAS  DAY  of  1918  was  a  merry  feast, 
and  nowhere  merrier  than  at  Old  Place.  There 
was  a  house-party  and,  for  dinner  on  the  day 
itself,  a  local  contingent  as  well:  Miss  Wall,  the 
Irechesters,  Mr.  Penrose,  and  Doctor  Mary. 
Mr.  Beaumaroy  also  had  been  invited  by  Mrs. 
'Naylor;  she  considered  him  an  interesting  man 
and  felt  pity  for  the  obvious  ennui  of  his  situa- 
tion; but  he  had  not  felt  able  to  leave  his  old 
friend.  Doctor  Mary's  Paying  Guest  was  of 
the  house-party,  not  merely  a  dinner  guest.  She 
was  asked  over  to  spend  three  days  and  went, 
accompanied  by  Jeanne,  who  by  this  time  was 
crying  much  less ;  crying  was  no  longer  the  cue ; 
her  mistress,  and  not  merely  stern  Doctor  Mary, 
had  plainly  shown  her  that.  Gertie  Naylor  had 
invited  Cynthia  to  help  her  in  entertaining  the 

81 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

subalterns,  though  Gertie  was  really  quite  equal 
to  that  task  herself;  there  were  only  three  of 
them,  and  if  a  pretty  girl  is  not  equal  to  three 
subalterns,  well,  what  are  we  coming  to  in  Eng- 
land? And,  as  it  turned  out,  Miss  Gertie  had 
to  deal  with  them  all,  sometimes  collectively, 
sometimes  one  by  one,  practically  unassisted. 
Cynthia  was  otherwise  engaged.  Gertie  com- 
plained neither  of  the  cause  nor  of  its  conse- 
quence. 

The  drink,  or  drugs,  hypothesis  was  exploded, 
and  Miss  Wall's  speculations  set  at  rest,  with 
a  quite  comforting  solatium  of  romantic  and 
unhappy  interest,  "a  nice  tit-bit  for  the  old  cat," 
as  Mr.  Naylor  unkindly  put  it.  Cynthia  had 
told  her  story;  she  wanted  a  richer  sympathy 
than  Doctor  Mary's  common-sense  afforded ;  out 
of  this  need  the  revelation  came  to  Gertie  in 
innocent  confidence,  and,  with  the  narrator's 
tacit  approval,  ran  through  the  family  and  its 
intimate  friends.  If  Cynthia  had  been  as  cal- 
culating as  she  was  guileless,  she  could  not  have 
done  better  for  herself.  Mrs.  Naylor's  mother- 

82 


ODD  STORY  OF  CAPTAIN  DUGGLE 

liness,  old  Naylor's  courtliness,  Gertie's  breath- 
less concern  and  avid  appetite  for  the  fullest 
detail,  everybody's  desire  to  console  and  cheer, 
all  these  were  at  her  service,  all  enlisted  in  the 
effort  to  make  her  forget,  and  live  and  laugh 
again.  Her  heart  responded;  she  found  herself 
becoming  happy  at  a  rate  which  made  her  posi- 
tively ashamed.  No  wonder  tactful  Jeanne  dis- 
covered that  the  cue  was  changed! 

Fastidious  old  Naylor  regarded  his  wife  with 
the  affection  of  habit  and  with  a  little  disdain 
for  the  ordinariness  of  her  virtues — not  to  say 
of  the  mind  which  they  adorned.  His  daughter 
was  to  him  a  precious  toy,  on  which  he  tried 
jokes,  played  tricks,  and  lavished  gifts,  for  the 
joy  of  seeing  the  prettiness  of  her  reactions  to 
his  treatment.  It  never  occurred  to  him  to  think 
that  his  toy  might  be  broken;  fond  as  he  was, 
his  feeling  for  her  lacked  the  apprehensiveness 
of  the  deepest  love.  But  he  idolized  his  son, 
and  in  this  case  neither  without  fear  nor  without 
understanding.  Foi  four  years  now  he  had 
feared  for  him  bitterly:  for  his  body,  for  his  life. 

83 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

At  every  waking  hour  his  inner  cry  had  been 
even  as  David's,  "Would  God  I  had  died  for 
thee,  my  son,  my  son!"  For  at  every  moment 
of  those  four  years  it  might  be  that  his  son  was 
even  then  dead.  That  terror,  endured  under  a 
cool  and  almost  off-hand  demeanor,  was  past; 
but  he  feared  for  his  son  still.  Of  all  who  went 
to  the  war  as  Crusaders,  none  had  the  tempera- 
ment more  ardently  than  Alec.  As  he  went,  so, 
obviously,  he  had  come  back,  not  disillusioned, 
nay,  with  all  his  illusions,  or  delusions,  about 
this  wicked  world  and  its  possibilities,  about  the 
people  who  dwell  in  it  and  their  lamentable 
limitations,  stronger  in  his  mind  than  ever.  How 
could  he  get  through  life  without  being  too  sorely 
hurt  and  wounded,  without  being  cut  to  the  very 
quick  by  his  inevitable  discoveries?  Old  Naylor 
did  not  see  how  it  was  to  be  done,  or  even  hoped 
for;  but  the  right  kind  of  wife  was  unquestion- 
ably the  best  chance. 

He  had  cast  a  speculative  eye  on  Cynthia 
Walford,  Irechester  had  caught  him  at  it,  but, 
as  he  observed  her  more,  she  did  not  altogether 

84 


ODD  STORY  OF  CAPTAIN  DUGGLE 

satisfy  him.  Alec  needed  someone  more  stable, 
stronger,  someone  in  a  sense  protective;  some- 
body more  like  Mary  Arkroyd;  that  idea  passed 
through  his  thoughts;  if  only  Mary  would  take 
the  trouble  to  dress  herself,  remember  that  she 
was,  or  might  be  made,  an  attractive  young 
woman;  and,  yes,  throw  her  mortar  and  pestle 
out  of  the  window  without,  however,  discarding 
with  them  the  sturdy,  sane,  balanced  qualities 
of  mind  which  enabled  her  to  handle  them  with 
such  admirable  competence.  But  he  soon  had  to 
put  this  idea  from  him.  His  son's  own  impulse 
was  to  give,  not  to  seek,  protection  and  support. 

Of  Cynthia's  woeful  experience  Alec  had 
spoken  to  his  father  once  only:  "It  makes  me 
mad  to  think  the  fellow  who  did  that  wore  a 
British  uniform!" 

How  unreasonable!  Since  by  all  the  laws  of 
average,  when  millions  of  men  are  wearing  a 
uniform,  there  must  be  some  rogues  in  it.  But 
it  was  Alec's  way  to  hold  himself  responsible 
for  the  whole  of  His  Majesty's  Forces.  Their 
honor  was  his;  for  their  misdeeds  he  must  in  his 

85 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

own  person  make  reparation.  "That  fellow 
Beaumaroy  may  have  lost  his  conscience,  but  my 
boy  seems  to  have  acquired  five  million,"  the 
old  man  grumbled  to  himself — a  grumble  full 
of  pride. 

The  father  might  analyze;  with  Alec  it  was 
all  impulse,  the  impulse  to  soothe,  to  obliterate, 
to  atone.  The  girl  had  been  sorely  hurt ;  with  the 
acuteness  of  sympathy  he  divined  that  she  felt 
herself  in  a  way  soiled  and  stained  by  contact 
with  unworthiness  and  by  a  too  easy  acceptance 
of  it.  All  that  must  be  swept  out  of  her  heart, 
out  of  her  memory,  if  it  could  be. 

Doctor  Mary  saw  what  was  happening,  and 
with  a  little  pang  to  which  she  would  not  have 
liked  to  own.  She  had  set  love  affairs,  and  all 
the  notions  connected  therewith,  behind  her;  but 
she  had  idealized  Alec  Naylor  a  little;  and  she 
thought  Cynthia,  in  homely  phrase,  "hardly 
good  enough."  Was  it  not  rather  perverse  that 
the  very  fact  of  having  been  a  little  goose  should 
help  her  to  win  so  rare  a  swan? 

"You're  taking  my  patient  out  of  my  hands, 
86 


ODD  STORY  OF  CAPTAIN   DUGGLE 

Captain  Alec!"  she  said  to  him  jokingly.  "And 
you're  devoting  great  attention  to  the  case." 

He  flushed.  "She  seems  to  like  to  talk  to  me," 
he  answered  simply.  "She  seems  to  me  to  have 
rather  a  remarkable  mind,  Doctor  Mary." 
(She  was  "Doctor  Mary"  to  all  the  Old  Place 
party  now,  in  affection,  with  a  touch  of  chaff.) 

O  sancta  simplicitas!  Mary  longed  to  say 
that  Cynthia  was  a  very  ordinary  child.  Like 
to  talk  to  him,  indeed!  Of  course  she  did;  and 
to  use  her  girl's  weapons  on  him ;  and  to  wonder, 
in  an  almost  awestruck  delight,  at  their  effect 
on  this  dazzling  hero.  Well,  the  guilelessness 
of  heroes! 

So  mused  Mary,  on  the  unprofessional  side 
of  her  mind,  as  she  watched,  that  Christmastide, 
Captain  Alec's  delicate,  sensitively  indirect, 
and  delayed  approach  toward  the  ripe  fruit  that 
hung  so  ready  to  his  hand.  "Part  of  his  chiv- 
alry to  assume  she  can't  think  of  him  yet!" 
Mary  was  half-impatient,  half-reluctantly  ad- 
miring; not  an  uncommon  mixture  of  feeling  for 
the  extreme  forms  of  virtue  to  produce.  In  the 

87 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

net  result,  however,  her  marked  image  of  Alec 
lost  something  of  its  heroic  proportions. 

But  professionally  (the  distinction  must  not 
be  pushed  too  far,  she  was  not  built  in  water- 
tight compartments)  Tower  Cottage  remained 
obstinately  in  the  center  of  her  thoughts;  and, 
connected  with  it,  there  arose  a  puzzle  over  Dr. 
Irechester's  demeanor.  She  had  taken  advan- 
tage of  Beaumaroy's  permission,  though  rather 
doubtful  whether  she  was  doing  right,  for  she 
was  still  inexperienced  in  niceties  of  etiquette, 
and  sent  on  the  letter,  with  a  frank  note  explain- 
ing her  own  feelings  and  the  reason  which  had 
caused  her  to  pay  her  visit  to  Mr.  Saffron. 
But  though  Irechester  was  quite  friendly  when 
they  met  at  Old  Place  before  dinner,  and  talked 
freely  to  her  during  a  rather  prolonged  period 
of  waiting  (Captain  Alec  and  Cynthia,  Gertie 
and  two  subalterns  were  very  late,  having  ap- 
parently forgotten  dinner  in  more  refined  de- 
lights), he  made  no  reference  to  the  letters,  nor 
to  Tower  Cottage  or  its  inmates.  Mary  herself 
was  too  shy  to  break  the  ice,  but  wondered  at 

88 


ODD  STORY  OF  CAPTAIN  DUGGLE 

his  silence,  and  the  more  because  the  matter 
evidently  had  not  gone  out  of  his  mind.  For 
after  dinner,  when  the  port  had  gone  round  once 
and  the  proper  healths  been  honored,  he  said 
across  the  table  to  Mr.  Penrose: 

"We  were  talking  the  other  day  of  the  Tower, 
on  the  heath,  you  know,  by  old  Saffron's  cot- 
tage, and  none  of  us  knew  its  history.  You 
know  all  about  Inkston  from  time  out  o'  mind. 
Have  you  got  any  story  about  it?" 

Mr.  Penrose  practiced  as  a  solicitor  in  London, 
but  lived  in  a  little  old  house  near  the  Ire- 
chesters'  in  the  village  street,  and  devoted  his 
leisure  to  the  antiquities  and  topography  of  the 
neighborhood;  his  lore  was  plentiful  and  curi- 
ous, if  not  important.  He  was  a  small,  neat  old 
fellow,  with  white  whiskers  of  the  antique  cut, 
a  thin  voice,  and  a  dry  cackling  laugh. 

"There  was  a  story  about  it,  and  one  quite 
fit  for  Christmas  evening,  if  you're  in  the  mood 
to  hear  it." 

The  thin  voice  was  penetrating.  At  the 
promise  of  a  story  silence  fell  on  the  company, 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

and  Mr.  Penrose  told  his  tale,  vouching  as  his 
authority  an  erstwhile  "oldest  inhabitant,"  now 
gathered  to  his  fathers;  for  the  tale  dated  back 
some  eighty  years,  to  the  date  of  the  ancient's 
early  manhood. 

A  seafaring  man  had  suddenly  appeared,  out 
of  space,  as  it  were,  at  Inkston,  and  taken  the 
cottage.  He  carried  with  him  a  strong  smell  of 
rum  and  tobacco,  and  gave  it  to  be  understood 
that  his  name  was  Captain  Duggle.  He  was 
no  beauty,  and  his  behavior  was  worse  than  his 
looks.  To  that  quiet  village,  in  those  quiet 
strait-laced  times,  he  was  a  horror  and  a  por- 
tent. He  not  only  drank  prodigiously — that, 
being  in  character  and  also  a  source  of  local 
profit,  might  have  passed  with  mild  censure — 
but  he  swore  and  blasphemed  horribly,  spurning 
the  parson,  mocking  at  Revelation,  even  at  the 
Deity  Himself.  The  Devil  was  his  friend,  he 
said.  A  most  terrible  fellow,  this  Captain 
Duggle.  Inkston's  hair  stood  on  end,  and  no 
wonder ! 

90 


ODD  STORY  OF  CAPTAIN  DUGGLE 

"No  doubt  they  shivered  with  delight  over  it 
all,"  commented  Mr.  Naylor. 

Captain  Duggle  lived  all  by  himself — well, 
what  God-fearing  Christian,  male  or  female, 
would  be  found  to  live  with  him — came  and  went 
mysteriously  and  capriciously,  always  full  of 
money,  and  at  least  equally  full  of  drink !  What 
he  did  with  himself  nobody  knew,  but  evil 
legends  gathered  about  him.  Terrified  way- 
farers, passing  the  cottage  by  night,  took  oath 
that  they  had  heard  more  than  one  voice! 

"This  is  proper  Christmas!"  a  subaltern  in- 
terjected into  Gertie's  ear. 

Mr.  Penrose,  with  an  air  of  gratification,  con- 
tinued his  narrative. 

"The  story  goes  on  to  tell,"  lie  said,  "of  a 
final  interview  with  the  village  clergyman,  in 
which  that  reverend  man,  as  in  duty  bound, 
solemnly  told  Captain  Duggle  that  however 
much  he  might  curse,  and  blaspheme,  and  drink, 
and,  er,  do  all  the  other  things  that  the  Captain 
did  (obviously  here  Mr.  Penrose  felt  hampered 
by  the  presence  of  ladies),  yet  Death,  Judg- 

91 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

ment,  and  Churchyard  wait  for  him  at  last. 
Whereupon  the  Captain,  emitting  an  inconceiv- 
ably terrific  imprecation,  which  no  one  ever 
dared  to  repeat  and  which  consequently  is  lost 
to  tradition,  declared  that  the  first  he'd  never 
feared,  the  second  was  parson's  gabble,  and  as  to 
the  third,  never  should  his  dead  toes  be  nearer 
any  church  than  for  the  last  forty  years  his  living 
feet  had  been!  If  so  be  as  he  wasn't  drowned  at 
sea,  he'd  make  a  grave  for  himself!" 

Mr.  Penrose  paused,  sipped  port  wine,  and 
resumed. 

"And  so,  no  doubt,  he  did,  building  the  Tower 
for  that  purpose.  By  bribes  and  threats  he  got 
two  men  to  work  for  him.  One  was  the  uncle 
of  my  informant.  But  though  he  built  that 
Tower,  and  inside  it  dug  his  grave,  he  never 
lay  there,  being,  as  things  turned  out,  carried 
off  by  the  Devil.  Oh,  yes,  there  was  no  doubt! 
He  went  home  one  night,  a  Saturday,  very  drunk, 
as  usual.  On  the  Sunday  night  a  belated  way- 
farer, possibly  also  drunk,  heard  wild  shrieks 
and  saw  a  strange  red  glow  through  the  window 

92 


ODD  STORY  OF  CAPTAIN  DUGGLE 

of  the  Tower,  now,  by  the  way,  boarded  up. 
And  no  doubt  he'd  have  smelt  brimstone  if  the 
wind  hadn't  set  the  wrong  way!  Anyhow  Cap- 
tain Duggle  was  never  seen  again  by  morta] 
eyes,  at  Inkston,  at  all  events.  Alter  a  time  the 
landlord  of  the  cottage  screwed  up  his  courage 
to  resume  possession;  the  Captain  had  only  a 
lease  of  it,  though  he  built  the  Tower  at  his  own 
charges,  and,  I  believe,  without  any  permission, 
the  landlord  being  much  too  frightened  to  inter- 
fere with  him.  He  found  everything  in  a  sad 
mess  in  the  house,  while  in  the  Tower  itself  every 
blessed  stick  had  been  burnt  up.  So  the  story 
looks  pretty  plausible." 

"And  the  grave?"  This  question  came  eagerly 
from  at  least  three  of  the  company. 

"In  front  of  the  fireplace  there  was  a  big 
oblong  hole — six  feet  by  three,  by  four — planks 
at  the  bottom,  the  sides  roughly  lined  with  brick. 
Captain  Duggle's  grave;  but  he  wasn't  in  it!" 

"But  what  really  became  of  him,  Mr.  Pen- 
rose?"  cried  Cynthia. 

"The  Rising  Generation  is  very  skeptical," 
93 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

said  old  Baylor.    "You,  of  course,  Penrose,  be- 
lieve the  story?" 

"I  do,"  said  Mr.  Penrose  composedly.  "I  be- 
lieve that  a  devil  carried  him  off,  and  that  its 
name  was  delirium  tremens.  We  can  guess, 
can't  we,  Irechester,  why  he  smashed  or  burnt 
everything,  and  fled  in  mad  terror  into  the  dark- 
ness? Where  to?  Was  he  drowned  at  sea,  or 
did  he  take  his  life,  or  did  he  rot  to  death  in 
some  filthy  hole?  Nobody  knows.  But  the 
grave  he  dug  is  there  in  the  Tower,  unless  it's 
been  filled  up  since  old  Saffron  has  lived  there." 

"Why  in  the  world  wasn't  it  filled  up  before?" 
asked  Alec  Naylor  with  a  laugh.  "People  lived 
in  the  cottage,  didn't  they?" 

"I've  visited  the  cottage  often,"  Irechester 
interposed,  "when  various  people  had  it,  but  I 
never  saw  any  signs  of  the  Tower  being  used." 

"It  never  was,  I'm  sure;  and  as  for  the  grave, 
well,  Alec,  in  country  parts,  to  this  day,  you'd 
be  thought  a  bold  man  if  you  filled  up  a  grave 
that  your  neighbor  had  dug  for  himself,  and  such 
a  neighbor  as  Captain  Duggle !  He  might  take 

94 


ODD  STORY  OF  CAPTAIN  DUGGLE 

it  into  his  head  some  night  to  visit  it,  and  if  he 
found  it  filled  up  there'd  be  trouble,  nasty 
trouble!"  His  laugh  cackled  out  rather  uncom- 
fortably. Gertie  shivered,  and  one  of  the  subal- 
terns gulped  down  his  port. 

"Old  Saffron's  a  man  of  education,  I  believe. 
No  doubt  he  pays  no  heed  to  such  nonsense, 
and  has  had  the  thing  covered  up,"  said  Naylor. 

"As  to  that  I  don't  know.  Perhaps  you  do, 
Irechester?  He's  your  patient,  isn't  he?" 

Dr.  Irechester  sat  four  places  from  Mary. 
Before  he  replied  to  the  question  he  cast  a  glance 
at  her,  smiling  rather  mockingly.  "I've  attended 
him  on  one  or  two  occasions,  but  I've  never  seen 
the  inside  of  the  Tower.  So  I  don't  know 
either." 

"Oh,  but  I'm  curious!  I  shall  ask  Mr.  Beau- 
maroy,"  cried  Cynthia. 

The  ironical  character  of  Irechester's  smile 
grew  more  pronounced,  and  his  voice  was  at  its 
driest:  "Certainly  you  can  ask  Beaumaroy, 
Miss  Walford.  As  far  as  asking  goes,  there's 
no  difficulty." 

95 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

A  pause  followed  this  pointed  remark,  on 
which  nobody  seemed  disposed  to  comment. 
Mrs.  Naylor  ended  the  session  by  rising  from  her 
chair. 

But  Mary  Arkroyd  was  disquieted,  worried 
as  to  how  she  stood  with  Irechester,  vaguely  but 
insistently  worried  over  the  whole  Tower  Cottage 
business.  Well,  the  first  point  she  could  soon 
settle,  or  try  to  settle,  anyhow. 

With  the  directness  which  marked  her  action 
when  once  her  mind  was  made  up,  she  waylaid 
Irechester  as  he  came  into  the  drawing-room; 
her  resolute  approach  sufficed  to  detach  Naylor 
from  him;  he  found  himself  for  the  moment 
isolated  from  everybody  except  Mary. 

"You  got  my  letter,  Dr.  Irechester?  I — I 
rather  expected  an  answer." 

"Your  conduct  was  so  obviously  and  punctili- 
ously correct,"  he  replied  suavely,  "that  I 
thought  my  answer  could  wait  till  I  met  you 
here  to-day,  as  I  knew  that  I  was  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  doing."  He  looked  her  full  in 
the  eyes.  "You  were  placed,  my  dear  col- 

96 


ODD  STORY  OF  CAPTAIN  DUGGLE 

league,  in  a  position  in  which  you  had  no 
alternative." 

"I  thought  so,  Dr.  Irechester,  but " 

"Oh  yes,  clearly  I  I'm  far  from  making  any 
complaint."  He  gave  her  a  courteous  little  bow, 
but  it  was  one  which  plainly  closed  the  subject. 
Indeed  he  passed  by  her  and  joined  a  group  that 
had  gathered  on  the  hearthrug,  leaving  her 
alone. 

So  she  stood  for  a  minute,  oppressed  by  a 
growing  uneasiness.  Irechester  said  nothing,  but 
surely  meant  something  of  import?  He  mocked 
her,  but  not  idly  or  out  of  wantonness.  He 
seemed  almost  to  warn  her.  What  could  there 
be  to  warn  her  about  I  He  had  laid  an  odd 
emphasis  on  the  word  "placed" ;  he  had  repeated 
it.  Who  had  "placed"  her  there?  Mr.  Saffron? 
Or 

Alec  Naylor  broke  in  on  her  uneasy  medita- 
tion. "It's  a  clinking  night,  Doctor  Mary,"  he 
observed.  "Do  you  mind  if  I  walk  Miss  Wai- 
ford  home,  instead  of  her  going  with  you  in  your 

97 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

car,  you  know?     It's  only  a  couple  of  miles 

and-  -" 

"D.  y      think  your  leg  can  stand  it?" 

He  laughed.    "I'll  cut  the  thing  off,  if  it  dares 

to  make  any  objection!" 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  GENTLEMANLY  STRANGER 

ON  this  same  Christmas  Day  Sergeant 
Hooper  was  feeling  morose  and  discontented; 
not  because  he  was  alone  in  the  world  (a  situa- 
tion comprising  many  advantages),  nor  on  the 
score  of  his  wages,  which  were  extremely  liberal; 
nor  on  account  of  the  "old  blighter's" — that  is, 
Mr.  Saffron's — occasional  outbursts  of  temper, 
these  being  in  the  nature  of  the  case  and  within 
the  terms  of  the  contract;  nor,  finally,  by  reason 
of  Beaumaroy's  airy  insolence,  since  from  his 
youth  up  the  Sergeant  was  hardened  to  unfavor- 
able comments  on  his  personal  appearance, 
trifling  vulgarities  which  a  man  of  sense  could 
afford  to  ignore. 

No;  the  winter  of  his  discontent — a  bitter 
winter — was  due  to  the  conviction,  which  had 
been  growing  in  his  mind  for  some  time,  that  he 

99 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

was  only  in  half  the  secret,  and  that  not  the 
more  profitable  half.  He  knew  that  the  old 
blighter  had  to  be  humored  in  certain  small  ways, 
as,  for  example,  in  regard  to  the  combination 
knife-and-fork — and  the  reason  for  it.  But,  first, 
he  did  not  know  what  happened  inside  the 
Tower;  he  had  never  seen  the  inside  of  it;  the 
door  was  always  locked;  he  was  never  invited 
to  accompany  his  masters  when  they  repaired 
thither  by  day,  and  he  was  not  on  the  premises 
by  night.  And,  secondly,  he  did  not  understand 
the  Wednesday  journeys  to  London,  and  he  had 
never  seen  the  inside  of  Beaumaroy's  brown  bag 
— that,  like  the  Tower  door,  was  always  locked. 
He  had  handled  it  once,  just  before  the  pair 
set  out  for  London  one  Wednesday.  Beau- 
maroy,  a  careless  man  sometimes,  in  spite  of  the 
cunning  which  Dr.  Irechester  attributed  to  him, 
had  left  it  on  the  parlor  table  while  he  helped 
Mr.  Saffron  on  with  his  coat  in  the  passage, 
and  the  Sergeant  had  swiftly  and  surreptitiously 
lifted  it  up.  It  was  very  light,  obviously  empty, 
or,  at  all  events,  holding  only  featherweight 

100 


A  GENTLEMANLY  STRANGER 

contents.  He  had  never  got  near  it  when  it 
came  back  from  town;  then  it  always  wenli 
straight  into  the  Tower  and  had  the  key  turned 
on  it  forthwith. 

But  the  Sergeant,  although  slow-witted  as  well 
as  ugly,  had  had  his  experiences;  he  had  carried 
weights  both  in  the  army  and  in  other  institu- 
tions which  are  officially  described  as  His  Ma- 
jesty's, and  had  seen  other  men  carry  them  too. 
From  the  set  of  Beaumaroy's  figure  as  he  ar- 
rived home  on  at  least  two  occasions  with  the 
brown  bag,  and  from  the  way  in  which  he 
handled  it,  the  Sergeant  confidently  drew  the 
conclusion  that  it  was  of  a  considerable,  almost 
a  grievous,  weight.  What  was  the  heavy  thing 
in  it?  What  became  of  that  thing  after  it  was 
taken  into  the  Tower?  To  whose  use  or  profit 
did  it,  or  was  it,  to  inure?  Certainly  it  was  plain, 
even  to  the  meanest  capacity,  that  the  contents 
of  the  bag  had  a  value  in  the  eyes  of  the  two 
men  who  went  to  London  for  them  and  who 
shepherded  them  from  London  to  the  custody 
of  the  Tower. 

101 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

These  thoughts  filled  and  racked  his  brain  as 
he  sat  drinking  rum  and  water  in  the  bar  of  the 
Green  Man  on  Christmas  evening;  a  solitary 
man,  mixing  little  with  the  people  of  the  village, 
he  sat  apart  at  a  small  table  in  the  corner, 
musing  within  himself,  yet  idly  watching  the 
company — villagers,  a  few  friends  from  London 
and  elsewhere,  some  soldiers  and  their  ladies. 
Besides  these,  a  tall  slim  man  stood  leaning 
against  the  bar,  at  the  far  end  of  it,  talking  to 
Bill  Smithers,  the  landlord,  and  sipping  whisky- 
and-soda  between  pulls  at  his  cigar.  He  wore 
a  neat  dark  overcoat,  brown  shoes,  and  a  bowler 
hat  rather  on  one  side;  his  appearance  was,  in 
fact,  genteel,  though  his  air  was  a  trifle  raffish. 
In  age  he  seemed  about  forty.  The  Sergeant 
had  never  seen  him  before,  and  therefore  favored 
him  with  a  glance  of  special  attention. 

Oddly  enough,  the  gentlemanly  stranger 
seemed  to  reciprocate  the  Sergeant's  interest; 
he  gave  him  quite  a  long  glance.  Then  he  fin- 
ished his  whisky-and-soda,  spoke  a  word  to  Bill 

102 


A  GENTLEMANLY  STRANGER 


Smithers,  and  lounged  across  the  room  to  where 
the  Sergeant  sat. 

"It's  poor  work  drinking  alone  on  Christmas 
night,"  he  observed.  "May  I  join  you?  I've 
ordered  a  little  something,  and,  well,  we  needn't 
bother  about  offering  a  gentleman  a  glass  to^ 
night." 

The  Sergeant  eyed  him  with  apparent  dis- 
favor— as,  indeed,  he  did  everybody  who  ap- 
proached him — but  a  nod  of  his  head  accorded 
the  desired  permission.  Smithers  came  across 
with  a  bottle  of  brandy  and  glasses.  "Good 
stuff!"  said  the  stranger,  as  he  sat  down,  filled 
the  glasses,  and  drank  his  off.  "The  best  thing 
to  top  up  with,  believe  me!" 

The  Sergeant,  in  turn,  drained  his  glass, 
maintaining,  however,  his  aloofness  of  demeanor. 
"What's  up?"  he  growled. 

"What's  in  the  brown  bag?"  asked  the  stranger 
lightly  and  urbanely. 

The  Sergeant  did  not  start;  he  was  too  old 
a  hand  for  that;  but  his  small  gimlet  eyes 

103 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

searched  his  new  acquaintance's  face  very  keenly. 
"You  know  a  lot!" 

"More  than  you  do  in  some  directions,  less  in 
others,  perhaps.  Shall  I  begin?  Because  we've 
got  to  confide  in  one  another,  Sergeant.  A  little 
story  of  what  two  gentlemen  do  in  London  on 
Wednesdays,  and  of  what  they  carry  home  in  a 
brown  leather  bag?  Would  that  interest  you? 
Oh,  that  stuff  in  the  brown  leather  bag!  Hard 
to  come  by  now,  isn't  it?  But  they  know  where 
there's  still  some,  and  so  do  I,  to  remark  it  in- 
cidentally. There  were  actually  some  people, 
Sergeant  Hooper,  who  distrusted  the  righteous- 
ness of  the  British  Cause,  which  is  to  say  (the 
stranger  smiled  cynically)  the  certainty  of  our 
licking  the  Germans,  and  they  hoarded  it,  the 
villains!" 

Sergeant  Hooper  stretched  out  his  hand  to- 
wards the  bottle.  "Allow  me!"  said  the  stranger 
politely.  "I  observe  that  your  hand  trembles  a 
little." 

It  did.  The  Sergeant  was  excited.  The 
stranger  seemed  to  be  touching  on  a  subject 

104 


A  GENTLEMANLY  STRANGER 


which  always  excited  the  Sergeant — to  the  point; 
of  hands  trembling,  twitching,  and  itching. 

"Have  to  pay  for  it,  too !  Thirty  bob  in  curl- 
twisters  for  every  ruddy  disc;  that's  the  figure 
now,  or  thereabouts.  What  do  they  want  to  do 
it  for?  What's  your  governor's  game?  Who, 
in  short,  is  going  to  get  off  with  it?" 

"What  is  it  they  does,  the  old  blighter  and 
Boomery  (thus  he  pronounced  the  name  Beau- 
maroy) ,  in  London?" 

"First  to  the  stockbroker's,  then  to  a  bank  or 
two,  I've  known  it  three  even;  then  a  taxi  down 
East,  and  a  call  at  certain  addresses.  The  bag's 
with  'em,  Sergeant,  and  at  each  call  it  gets 
heavier.  I've  seen  it  swell,  so  to  speak." 

"Who  in  hell  are  you?"  the  Sergeant  grunted 
huskily. 

"Names  later — after  the  usual  guarantees  of 
good  faith." 

The  whole  conversation,  carried  on  in  low 
tones,  had  passed  under  cover  of  noisy  mirth, 
snatches  of  song,  banter,  and  gigglings;  nobody 
paid  heed  to  the  two  men  talking  in  a  corner. 

105 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

Yet  the  stranger  lowered  his  voice  to  a  whisper, 
as  he  added: 

"From  me  to  you  fifty  quid  on  account ;  from 
you  to  me  just  a  sight  of  the  place  where  they 
put  it." 

,  Sergeant  Hooper  drank,  smoked,  and  pon- 
dered. The  stranger  showed  the  edge  of  a  roll 
of  notes,  protruding  it  from  his  breast-pocket. 
The  Sergeant  nodded,  he  understood  that  part. 
But  there  was  much  that  he  did  not  understand. 
"It  fair  beats  me  what  the  blazes  they're  doing 
it  for"  he  broke  out. 
K  "Whose  money  would  it  be?" 

"The  old  blighter's,  o'  course.  Boomery's 
stony,  except  for  his  screw."  He  looked  hard 
at  the  gentlemanly  stranger,  and  a  slow  smile 
came  on  his  lips,  "That's  your  idea,  is  it, 
mister?" 

"Gentleman's  oia,  looks  frail,  might  go  off 
suddenly.  What  then  ?  Friends  turn  up,  always 
do  when  you're  dead,  you  know.  Well,  what  of 
it?  Less  money  in  the  funds  than  was  reckoned ; 
dear  old  gentleman  doesn't  cut  up  as  well  as  they; 

106 


A  GENTLEMANLY  STRANGER 

hoped!  And  meanwhile  our  friend  B ! 

Does  it  dawn  on  you  at  all,  from  our  friend 

B 's  point  of  view,  Sergeant?  I  may  be 

wrong,  but  that's  my  provisional  conjecture. 
The  question  remains  how  he's  got  the  old  gent 
into  the  game,  doesn't  it?" 

Precisely  the  point  to  which  the  Sergeant's 
mind  also  had  turned !  The  knowledge  which  he 
possessed — that  half  of  the  secret — and  which 
his  companion  did  not,  might  be  very  material 
to  a  solution  of  the  problem;  the  Sergeant  did 
not  mean  to  share  it  prematurely,  without  neces- 
sity, or  for  nothing.  But  surely  it  had  a  bearing 
on  the  case?  Dull-witted  as  he  was,  the  Sergeant 
seemed  to  catch  a  glimmer  of  light,  and  mentally 
groped  towards  it. 

"Well,  we  can't  sit  here  all  night,"  said  the 
stranger  in  good-humored  impatience.  "I've  a 
train  to  catch." 

"There's  no  train  up  from  here  to-night." 

"There  is  from  Sprotsfield.  I  shaU  walk 
over." 

The  Sergeant  smiled.  "Oh,  if  you're  walk- 
107 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

ing  to  Sprotsfield,  I'll  put  you  on  your  way. 
If  anybody  was  to  see  us,  Boomery,  for  instance, 
he  couldn't  complain  of  my  seeing  an  old  pal 
on  his  way  on  Christmas  night.  No  'arm  in 
that;  no  look  of  prowling,  or  spying,  or  such 
like!  And  you  are  an  old  pal,  ain't  you?" 

"Certainly;  your  old  pal — let  me  see — your 
old  pal  Percy  Bennett." 

"As  it  might  be,  or  as  it  might  not.  What 
about  the "  He  pointed  to  Percy  Ben- 
nett's breast-pocket. 

"I'll  give  it  you  outside.  You  don't  want  me 
to  be  seen  handing  it  over  in  here,  do  you?" 

The  Sergeant  had  one  more  question  to  ask. 
"About  'ow  much  d'ye  reckon  there  might  be 
by  now?" 

"How  often  have  they  been  to  London?  Be- 
cause they  don't  come  to  see  my  friends  every 
time,  I  fancy." 

"Must  'ave  been  six  or  seven  times  by  now. 
The  game  began  soon  after  Boomery  and  I  came 
'ere." 

"Then,  quite  roughly,  quite  a  shot,  from  what 
108 


A  GENTLEMANLY  STRANGER 

I  know  of  the  deals  we — my  friends,  I  mean — 
did  with  them,  and  reasoning  from  that,  there 
might  be  a  matter  of  seven  or  eight  thousand 
pounds." 

The  Sergeant  whistled  softly,  rose,  and  led  the 
way  to  the  door.  The  gentlemanly  stranger 
paused  at  the  bar  to  pay  for  the  brandy,  and 
after  bidding  the  landlord  a  civil  good-evening, 
with  the  compliments  of  the  season,  followed  the 
Sergeant  into  the  village  street. 

Fifteen  minutes'  brisk  walk  brought  them  to 
Hinton  Avenue.  At  the  end  of  it  they  passed 
Doctor  Mary's  house ;  the  drawing-room  curtains 
were  not  drawn;  on  the  blind  they  saw  reflected 
the  shadows  of  a  man  and  a  girl,  standing  side 
by  side.  "Mistletoe,  eh?"  remarked  the  stranger. 
The  Sergeant  spat  on  the  road;  they  resumed 
their  way,  pursuing  the  road  across  the  heath. 

It  was  fine,  but  overclouded  and  decidedly 
dark.  Every  now  and  then  Bennett,  to  call  the 
stranger  by  what  was  almost  confessedly  a  nom- 
de-guerre,  flashed  a  powerful  electric  torch  on 

109 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

the  roadway.  "Don't  want  to  walk  into  a  gorse- 
bush,"  he  explained  with  a  laugh. 

"Put  it  away,  you  darned  fool !  We're  nearly 
there." 

The  stranger  obeyed.  In  another  seven  or 
eight  minutes  there  loomed  up,  on  the  left  hand, 
the  dim  outline  of  Mr.  Saffron's  abode — the 
square  cottage  with  the  odd  round  tower  an- 
nexed. 

"There  you  are!"  The  Sergeant's  voice  in- 
stinctively kept  to  a  whisper.  "That's  what  you 
want  to  see." 

"But  I  can't  see  it — not  so  as  to  get  any  clear 
idea." 

No  lights  showed  from  the  cottage,  nor,  of 
course,  from  the  Tower;  its  only  window  had 
been,  as  Mr.  *Penrose  said,  boarded  up.  The 
wind — there  was  generally  a  wind  on  the  heath 
— stirred  the  fir-trees  and  the  bushes  into  a  soft 
movement  and  a  faint  murmur  of  sound.  A  very 
acute  and  alert  ear  might  perhaps  have  caught 
another  sound — footfalls  on  the  road,  a  good 
long  way  behind  them.  The  two  spies,  or  scouts, 

110 


A  GENTLEMANLY  STRANGER 

did  not  hear  them;  their  attention  was  elsewhere. 

"Probably  they're  both  in  bed;  it's  quite  safe 
to  make  our  examination,"  said  the  stranger. 

"Yes,  I  s'pose  it  is.  But  look  to  be  ready 
to  douse  your  glim.  Boomery's  a  nailer  at  turn- 
ing up  unexpected."  The  Sergeant  seemed 
rather  nervous. 

Mr.  Bennett  was  not.  He  took  out  his  torch, 
and  guided  by  its  light  (which,  however,  he  took 
care  not  to  throw  towards  the  cottage  windows) 
he  advanced  to  the  garden  gate,  the  Sergeant 
following,  and  took  a  survey  of  the  premises. 
It  was  remarkable  that,  as  the  light  of  the  torch 
beamed  out,  the  faint  sound  of  footfalls  on  the 
road  behind  died  away. 

"Keep  an  eye  on  the  windows,  and  touch  my 
elbow  if  any  light  shows.  Don't  speak."  The 
stranger  was  at  business — his  .business — now, 
and  his  voice  became  correspondingly  business- 
like. "We  won't  risk  going  inside  the  gate.  I 
can  see  from  here."  Indeed  he  very  well  could; 
Tower  Cottage  stood  back  no  more  than  twelve 

111 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

or  fifteen  feet  from  the  road,  and  the  torch  was 
powerful. 

For  four  or  five  minutes  the  stranger  made 
his  examination.  Then  he  turned  off  his  torch. 
"Looks  easy,"  he  remarked,  "but  of  course 
there's  the  garrison."  Once  more  he  turned  on 
his  light,  to  look  at  his  watch.  "Can't  stop  now, 
or  I  shall  miss  the  train,  and  I  don't  want  to 
have  to  get  a  bed  at  Sprotsfield.  A  stiayed 
reveler  on  Christmas  night  might  be  too  well 
remembered.  Got  an  address?" 

"Care  of  Mrs.  Willnough,  Laundress,  Ink- 
ston." 

"Right.  Good-night."  With  a  quick  turn  he 
was  off  along  the  road  to  Sprotsfield.  The  Ser- 
geant saw  the  gleam  of  his  torch  once  or  twice, 
receding  at  quite  a  surprising  pace  into  the 
distance.  Feeling  the  wad  of  notes  in  his  pocket 
— perhaps  to  make  sure  that  the  whole  episode 
had  not  been  a  dream — the  Sergeant  turned  back 
towards  Inkston. 

After  a  couple  of  minutes,  a  tall  figure 
emerged  from  the  shelter  of  a  high  and  thick 

112 


A  GENTLEMANLY  STRANGER 

gorse  bush  just  opposite  Tower  Cottage,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  road.  Captain  Alec  Naylor 
had  seen  the  light  of  the  stranger's  torch,  and, 
after  four  years  in  France,  he  was  well  skilled 
in  the  art  of  noiseless  approach.  But  he  felt 
that,  for  the  moment  at  least,  his  brain  was  less 
agile  than  his  feet.  He  had  been  suddenly 
wrenched  out  of  one  set  of  thoughts  into  another 
profoundly  different.  It  was  his  shadow,  to- 
gether with  Cynthia  Walford's,  that  the  Ser- 
geant and  the  stranger  had  seen  on  Doctor 
Mary's  blind.  After  "walking  her  home,"  he 
had — well,  just  not  proposed  to  Cynthia,  re- 
strained more  by  those  scruples  of  his  than  by 
any  ungraciousness  on  the  part  of  the  lady. 
Even  his  modesty  could  not  blind  him  to  this 
fact.  He  was  full  of  pity,  of  love,  of  a  man's 
joyous  sense  of  triumph,  half  wishing  that  he 
had  made  his  proposal,  half  glad  that  he  had  not, 
just  because  it,  and  its  radiant  promise,  could 
still  be  dangled  in  the  bright  vision  of  the 
future.  He  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  ro- 
mance, and  his  heaven  was  higher  than  that 

113 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

which  most  men  reach;  it  was  built  on  loftier 
foundations. 

Then  came  the  flash  of  the  torch;  the  high 
spirits  born  of  one  experience  sought  an  outlet 
in  another.  "By  Jove,  I'll  track  'em — like  old 
times!"  he  murmured,  with  a  low  light  laugh. 
And,  just  for  fun,  he  did  it,  taking  to  the  heath 
beside  the  road,  twisting  his  long  body  in  and 
out  amongst  gorse,  heather,  and  bracken,  very 
noiselessly,  with  wonderful  dexterity.  The  light 
of  the  lamp  was  continuous  now;  the  stranger 
was  making  his  examination.  By  it  Captain 
Alec  guided  his  steps ;  and  he  arrived  behind  the 
tall  gorse  bush  opposite  Tower  Cottage  just  in 
time  to  hear  the  Sergeant  say  "Mrs.  Willnough, 
Laundress,  Inkston,"  and  to  witness  the  parting 
of  the  two  companions. 

There  was  very  little  to  go  upon  there.  Why 
should  not  one  friend  give  another  an  address? 
But  the  examination?  Beaumaroy  should  surely 
know  of  that?  It  might  be  nothing,  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  might  have  a  meaning.  But  the 
men  had  gone,  had  obviously  parted  for  the 

114 


A  GENTLEMANLY  STRANGER 


night.  Beaumaroy  could  be  told  to-morrow;  now 
he  himself  could  go  back  to  his  visions — and  so 
homeward,  in  happiness,  to  his  bed. 

Having  reached  this  sensible  conclusion,  he 
was  about  to  turn  away  from  the  garden  gate 
which  he  now  stood  facing,  when  he  heard  the 
house  door  softly  open  and  as  softly  shut.  The 
practice  of  his  profession  had  given  him  keen 
eyes  in  the  dark;  he  discovered  Beaumaroy's  tall 
figure  stealing  very  cautiously  down  the  narrow, 
flagged  path.  The  next  instant  the  light  of 
another  torch  flashed  out,  and  this  time  not  in 
the  distance,  but  full  in  his  own  face. 

"By  God,  you,  Naylor!"  Beaumaroy  ex- 
claimed in  a  voice  which  was  low  but  full  of  sur- 
prise. "I — I — well,  it's  rather  late " 

Alec  Naylor  was  suddenly  struck  with  the 
element  of  humor  in  the  situation.  He  had  been 
playing  detective;  apparently  he  was  now  the 
suspected! 

"Give  me  time  and  I'll  explain  all,"  He  said, 
smiling  under  the  dazzling  rays  of  the  torch. 

Beaumaroy  glanced  round  at  the  house  for 
115 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

a  second,  pursed  up  his  lips  into  one  of  the  odd 
little  contortions  which  he  sometimes  allowed 
himself,  and  said:  "Well,  then,  old  chap,  come 
in  and  have  a  drink,  and  do  it.  For  I'm  hanged 
if  I  see  why  you  should  stand  staring  into  this 
garden  in  the  middle  of  the  night!  With  your 
opportunities  I  should  be  better  employed  on 
Christmas  evening." 

"You  really  want  me  to  come  in?"  It  was  now 
Captain  Alec's  voice  which  expressed  surprise. 

"Why  the  devil  not?"  asked  Beaumaroy  in  a 
tone  of  frank  but  friendly  impatience. 

He  turned  and  led  the  way  into  Tower  Cot- 
tage. Somehow  this  invitation  to  enter  was  the 
last  thing  that  Captain  Alec  had  expected. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
CAPTAIN  ALEC  RAISES  HIS  VOICE 

BEAITMAEOY  led  the  way  into  the  parlor,  Cap- 
tain Alec  following.  "Well,  I  thought  your  old 
friend  didn't  care  to  see  strangers,"  he  said, 
continuing  the  conversation. 

"He  was  tired  and  fretful  to-night,  so  I  got 
him  to  bed,  and  gave  him  a  soothing  draught — 
one  that  our  friend  Dr.  Arkroyd  sent  him.  He 
went  off  like  a  lamb,  poor  old  boy.  If  we  don't 
talk  too  loud  we  sha'n't  disturb  him." 

"I  can  tell  you  what  I  have  to  tell  in  a  few 
minutes." 

"Don't  hurry."  Beaumaroy  was  bringing  the 
refreshment  he  had  offered  from  the  sideboard. 
"I'm  feeling  lonely  to-night,  so  I — "  he  smiled 
— "yielded  to  the  impulse  to  ask  you  to  come  in, 
Naylor.  However,  let's  have  the  story  by  all 


means." 


117 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

The  surprise — it  might  almost  have  been  taken 
for  alarm — which  he  had  shown  at  the  first  sight 
of  Alec  seemed  to  have  given  place  to  a  gentle 
and  amiable  weariness,  which  persisted  through 
the  recital  of  the  Captain's  experiences — how 
his  errand  of  courtesy,  or  gallantry,  had  led  to 
his  being  on  the  road  across  the  heath  so  late 
at  night,  and  of  what  he  had  seen  there. 

"You  copped  them  properly!"  Beaumaroy 
remarked  at  the  end,  with  a  lazy  smile.  "One 
does  learn  a  trick  or  two  in  France.  You 
couldn't  see  their  faces,  I  suppose?" 

"No;  too  dark.  I  didn't  dare  show  a  light, 
though  I  had  one.  Besides,  their  backs  were 
towards  me.  One  looked  tall  and  thin,  the  other 
short  and  stumpy.  But  I  should  never  be  able 
to  swear  to  either." 

"And  they  went  off  in  different  directions,  you 
say?" 

"Yes,  the  tall  one  towards  Sprotsfield,  the 
short  one  back  towards  Inkston." 

"Oh,  the  short  stumpy  one  it  was  who  turned 
back  to  Inkston?"  Beaumaroy  had  seated  him- 

118 


CAPTAIN  ALEC  RAISES  HIS  VOICE 

self  on  a  low  three-legged  stool,  opposite  to  the 
big  chair  where  Alec  sat,  and  was  smoking  his 
pipe,  his  hands  clasped  round  his  knees.  "It 
doesn't  seem  to  me  to  come  to  much,  though  I'm 
much  obliged  to  you  all  the  same.  The  short 
one's  probably  a  local,  the  other  a  stranger,  and 
the  local  was  probably  seeing  his  friend  part  of 
the  way  home,  and  incidentally  showing  him  one 
of  the  sights  of  the  neighborhood.  There  are 
stories  about  this  old  den,  you  know — ancient 
traditions.  It's  said  to  be  haunted,  and  what 
not." 

"Funnily  enough,  we  had  the  story  to-night 
at  dinner,  at  our  house." 

"Had  you  now?"  Beaumaroy  looked  up 
quickly.  "What,  all  about " 

"Captain  Duggle,  and  the  Devil,  and  the 
grave,  and  all  that." 

"Who  told  you  the  story?" 

"Old  Mr.  Penrose.  Do  you  know  him?  Lives 
in  High  Street,  near  the  Irechesters." 

"I  think  I  know  him  by  sight.  So  he  enter- 
tained you  with  that  old  yarn,  did  he?  'And  that 

119 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

same  old  yarn  probably  accounts  for  the  noc- 
turnal examination  which  you  saw  going  on.  It 
was  a  little  excitement  for  you,  to  reward  you 
for  your  politeness  to  Miss  Walford!" 

Alec  flushed,  but  answered  frankly :  "I  needed 
no  reward  for  that."  His  feelings  got  the  better 
of  him;  he  was  very  full  of  feelings  that  night, 
and  wanted  to  be  sympathized  with.  "Beau- 
maroy,  do  you  know  that  girl's  story?"  Beau- 
maroy  shook  his  head,  and  listened  to  it.  Captain 
Alec  ended  on  his  old  note:  "To  think  of  the 
scoundrel  using  the  King's  uniform  like  that!" 

"Rotten!  But,  er,  don't  raise  your  voice." 
He  pointed  to  the  ceiling,  smiling,  and  went  on 
without  further  comment  on  Cynthia's  ill-usage. 
"I  suppose  you  intend  to  stick  to  the  army, 
Naylor?" 

"Yes,  certainly  I  do." 

"I'm  discharged.  After  I  came  out  of  hos- 
pital they  gave  me  sick  leave,  and  constantly 
renewed  it;  and  when  the  armistice  came  they 
gave  me  my  discharge.  They  put  it  down  to 
my  wound,  of  course,  but — well,  I  gathered  the 

120 


CAPTAIN  ALEC  RAISES  HIS  VOICE 

impression  that  I  was  considered  no  great  loss." 
He  had  finished  his  pipe,  and  was  now  smiling 
reflectively. 

Captain  Alec  did  not  smile.  Indeed  he  looked 
rather  pained;  he  was  remembering  General 
Punnit's  story:  military  inefficiency,  even  mili- 
tary imperfection,  was  for  him  no  smiling  matter. 
Beaumaroy  did  not  appear  to  notice  his  disap- 
proving gravity. 

"So  I  was  at  a  loose  end.  I  had  sold  up 
my  business  in  Spain;  I  was  there  six  or  seven 
years,  just  as  Captain — Captain — ?  Oh,  Crans- 
ter,  yes! — was  in  Bogota — when  I  joined  up, 
and  had  no  particular  reason  for  going  back 
there — and,  incidentally,  no  money  to  go  back 
with.  So  I  took  on  this  job,  which  came  to  me 
quite  accidentally.  I  went  into  a  Piccadilly  bar 
one  evening,  and  found  my  old  man  there,  rather 
excited  and  declaiming  a  good  deal  of  rot; 
seemed  to  have  the  war  a  bit  on  his  brain.  They 
started  in  to  guy  him,  and  I  think  one  or  two 
meant  to  hustle  him,  and  perhaps  take  his  money 
off  him.  I  took  his  part,  and  there  was  a  bit 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

of  a  shindy.  In  the  end  I  saw  him  home  to  his 
lodgings — he  had  a  room  in  London  for  the 
night — and,  to  cut  a  long  story  short,  we  palled 
up,  and  he  asked  me  to  come  and  live  with  him. 
So  here  I  am,  and  with  me  my  Sancho  Panza, 
the  worthy  ex-Sergeant  Hooper.  Perhaps  I 
may  be  forgiven  for  impliedly  comparing  myself 
to  Don  Quixote,  since  that  gentleman,  besides 
his  other  characteristics,  is  generally  agreed  to 
have  been  mad." 

"Your  Sancho  Panza's  no  beauty,"  remarked 
the  Captain  drily. 

"And  no  saint  either.  Kicked  out  of  the  Ser- 
vice, and  done  time.  That  between  ourselves." 

"Then  why  the  devil  do  you  have  the  fellow 
about?" 

"Beggars  mustn't  be  choosers.  Besides,  I've 
a  penchant  for  failures." 

That  was  what  General  Punnit  had  said! 
Alec  Naylor  grew  impatient.  "That's  the  very 
spirit  we  have  to  fight  against!"  he  exclaimed, 
rather  hotly. 

122 


CAPTAIN  ALEC  RAISES  HIS  VOICE 

"Forgive  me,  but,  please,  don't  raise  your 
voice." 

Alec  lowered  his  voice,  for  a  moment  anyhow, 
but  the  central  article  of  his  creed  was  assailed, 
and  he  grew  vehement.  "It's  fatal;  it's  at  the 
root  of  all  our  troubles.  Allow  for  failures  in 
individuals,  and  you  produce  failure  all  round. 
It's  tenderness  to  defaulters  that  wrecks  disci- 
pline. I  would  have  strict  justice,  but  no 
mercy,  not  a  shadow  of  it!" 

"But  you  said  that  day  at  your  place  that  the 
war  had  made  you  tender-hearted." 

"Yes,  I  did,  and  it's  true.  Is  it  hard-hearted 
to  refuse  to  let  a  slacker  cost  good  men  their 
lives?  Much  better  take  his,  if  it's  got  to  be  one 
or  the  other." 

"A  cogent  argument.  But,  my  dear  Naylor, 
I  wish  you  wouldn't  raise  your  voice." 

"Damn  my  voice!"  said  Alec,  most  vexa- 
tiously  interrupted  just  as  he  had  got  into  his 
stride.  "You  say  things  that  I  can't  and  won't 

let  pass,  and " 

123 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

"I  really  wouldn't  have  asked  you  in,  if  I'd 
thought  you'd  raise  your  voice." 

Alec  recollected  himself.  "My  dear  fellow, 
a  thousand  pardons !  I  forgot  I  The  old  gentle- 
man !" 

"Exactly.  But  I'm  afraid  the  mischief's  done. 
Listen!"  Again  he  pointed  to  the  ceiling,  but 
his  eyes  set  on  Captain  Alec  with  a  queer,  rue- 
ful, humorous  expression.  "1  was  an  ass  to 
ask  you  in.  But  I'm  no  good  at  it,  that's  the 
fact.  I'm  always  giving  the  show  away!"  he 
grumbled,  half  to  himself,  but  not  inaudibly. 

Alec  stared  at  him  for  a  moment  in  puzzle, 
but  the  next  instant  his  attention  was  diverted. 
Another  voice  besides  his  was  raised ;  the  sound  of 
it  came  through  the  ceiling  from  the  room  above; 
the  words  were  not  audible;  the  volubility  of  the 
utterance  in  itself  went  far  to  prevent  them  from  • 
being  distinguishable;  but  the  high,  vibrant, 
metallic  tones  rang  through  the  house.  It  was 
a  rush  of  noise,  sharp  grating  noise,  without  a 
meaning.  The  effect  was  weird,  very  uncom- 
fortable. Alec  Naylor  knit  his  brows,  and  once 

124 


CAPTAIN  ALEC  RAISES  HIS  VOICE 

gave  a  little  shiver,  as  he  listened.  Beaumaroy 
sat  quite  still,  the  expression  in  his  eyes  unal- 
tered, or,  if  altered  at  all,  it  grew  softer,  as 
though  with  pity  or  affection. 

"Good  God,  Beaumaroy,  are  you  keeping  a 
lunatic  in  this  house?"  He  might  raise  his  voice 
as  loud  as  he  pleased  now,  it  was  drowned  by 
that  other. 

"I'm  not  keeping  him,  he's  keeping  me.  And, 
anyhow,  his  medical  adviser  tells  me  there  is  no 
reason  to  suppose  that  my  old  friend  is  not 
compos  mentis" 

"Irechester  says  that?" 

"Mr.  Saffron's  medical  attendant  is  Dr.  Ark- 
royd." 

As  he  spoke  the  noise  from  above  suddenly 
ceased.  Since  neither  of  the  men  in  the  parlor 
spoke,  there  ensued  a  minute  of  what  seemed 
intense  silence;  it  was  such  a  change. 

Then  came  a  still  small  sound,  a  creaking  of 
wood  from  overhead. 

"I  think  you'd  better  go,  Naylor,  if  you  don't 
mind.  After  a  performance  of  that  kind  he 

125 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

generally  comes  and  tells  me  about  it.  And  he 
may  be,  I  don't  know  at  all  for  certain,  annoyed 
to  find  you  here." 

Alec  Naylor  got  up  from  the  big  chair,  but 
it  was  not  to  take  his  departure. 

"I  want  to  see  him,  Beaumaroy,"  he  said 
brusquely  and  rather  authoritatively. 

Beaumaroy  raised  his  brows.  "I  won't  take 
you  to  his  room,  or  let  you  go  there  if  I  can  help 
it.  But  if  he  comes  down,  well,  you  can  stay 
and  see  him.  It  may  get  me  into  a  scrape,  but 
that  doesn't  matter  much." 

"My  point  of  view  is " 

"My  dear  fellow,  I  know  your  point  of  view 
perfectly.  It  is  that  you  are  personally  responsi- 
ble for  the  universe,  apparently  just  because  you 
wear  a  uniform." 

No  other  sound  had  come  from  above  or  from 
the  stairs,  but  the  door  now  opened  suddenly, 
and  Mr.  Saffron  stood  on  the  threshold.  He 
wore  slippers,  a  pair  of  checked  trousers,  and 
his  bedroom  jacket  of  pale  blue;  in  addition,  the 
gray  shawl,  which  he  wore  on  his  walks,  was 

126 


CAPTAIN  ALEC  RAISES  HIS  VOICE 

again  swathed  closely  round  him.  Only  his  right 
arm  was  free  from  it;  in  his  hand  was  a  silver 
bedroom  candlestick.  From  his  pale  face  and 
under  his  snowy  hair  his  blue  eyes  gleamed 
brightly.  As  Alec  first  caught  sight  of  him,  he 
was  smiling  happily,  and  he  called  out  tri- 
umphantly: "That  was  a  good  one!  That  went 
well,  Hector!" 

Then  he  saw  Alec's  tall  figure  by  the  fire.  He 
grew  grave,  closed  the  door  carefully,  and  ad- 
vanced to  the  table,  on  which  he  set  down  the 
candlestick.  After  a  momentary  look  at  Alec, 
he  turned  his  gaze  inquiringly  towards  Beau- 
maroy. 

"I'm  afraid  we're  keeping  it  up  rather  late, 
sir,"  said  the  latter  in  a  tone  of  respectful  yet 
easy  apology,  "but  I  took  an  airing  in  the  road 
after  you  went  to  bed,  and  there  I  found  my 
friend  here  on  his  way  home;  and  since  it  was 
Christmas " 

Mr.  Saffron  bowed  his  head  in  acquiescence; 
he  showed  no  sign  of  anger.  "Present  your 

127 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

friend  to  me,  Hector,"  he  requested,  or  ordered, 
gravely. 

"Captain  Naylor,  sir,  Distinguished  Service 
Order;  Duffshire  Fusiliers." 

The  Captain  was  in  uniform  and,  during  his 
talk  with  Beaumaroy,  had  not  thought  of  tak- 
ing off  his  cap.  Thus  he  came  to  the  salute 
instinctively.  The  old  man  bowed  with  reserved 
dignity;  in  spite  of  his  queer  get-up  he  bore 
himself  well;  the  tall  handsome  Captain  did  not 
seem  to  efface  or  outclass  him. 

"Captain  Naylor  has  distinguished  himself 
highly  in  the  war,  sir,"  Beaumaroy  continued. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 
any  officer  who  has  distinguished  himself  in  the 
service  of  his  country."  Then  his  tone  became 
easier  and  more  familiar.  "Don't  let  me  disturb 
you,  gentlemen.  My  business  with  you,  Hector, 
will  wait.  I  have  finished  my  work,  and  can  rest 
with  a  clear  conscience." 

"Couldn't  we  persuade  you  to  stay  a  few 
minutes  with  us,  and  join  us  in  a  whisky-and- 
soda?" 

128 


CAPTAIN  ALEC  RAISES  HIS  VOICE 

"Yes,  by  all  means,  Hector.  But  no  whisky. 
Give  me  a  glass  of  my  own  wine;  I  see  a  bottle 
on  the  sideboard." 

He  came  round  the  table  and  sat  down  in  the 
big  chair.  "Pray  seat  yourself,  Captain,"  he 
said,  waving  his  hand  towards  the  stool  which 
Beaumaroy  had  lately  occupied. 

The  Captain  obeyed  the  gesture,  but  his  huge 
frame  looked  awkward  on  the  low  seat;  he  felt 
aware  of  it,  then  aware  of  the  cap  on  his  head; 
he  snatched  it  off  hastily,  and  twiddled  it  be- 
tween his  fingers.  Mr.  Saffron,  high  up  in  the 
great  chair,  sitting  erect,  seemed  now  actually 
to  dominate  the  scene — Beaumaroy  standing  by, 
with  an  arm  on  the  back  of  the  chair,  holding 
a  tall  glass  full  of  the  golden  wine  ready  to 
Mr.  Saffron's  command;  the  old  man  reached  up 
his  thin  right  hand,  took  it,  and  sipped  with 
evident  pleasure. 

Alec  Naylor  was  embarrassed;  he  sat  in 
silence.  But  Beaumaroy  seemed  quite  at  his 
ease.  He  began  with  a  statement  which  was, 
in  its  literal  form,  no  falsehood;  but  that  was 

129 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

about  all  that  could  be  said  for  it  on  the  score 
of  veracity.  "Before  you  came  in,  sir,  we  were 
just  speaking  of  uniforms.  Do  you  remember 
seeing  our  blue  Air  Force  uniform  when  we 
were  in  town  last  week?  I  remember  that  you 
expressed  approval  of  it." 

In  any  case  the  topic  was  very  successful. 
Mr.  Saffron  embraced  it  with  eagerness;  with 
much  animation  he  discussed  the  merits,  whether 
practical  or  decorative,  of  various  uniforms — 
field-gray,  khaki,  horizon  blue,  Air  Force  blue, 
and  a  dozen  others  worn  by  various  armies, 
corps,  and  services.  Alec  was  something  of  an 
enthusiast  in  this  line  too;  he  soon  forgot  his 
embarrassment,  and  joined  in  the  conversation 
freely,  though  with  a  due  respect  to  the  obvious 
thoroughness  of  Mr.  Saffron's  information. 
Watching  the  pair  with  an  amused  smile,  Beau- 
maroy  contented  himself  with  putting  in,  here 
and  there,  what  may  be  called  a  conjunctive  ob- 
servation— just  enough  to  give  the  topic  a  new 
start. 

After  a  quarter  of  an  hour  of  this  pleasant 
130 


CAPTAIN  ALEC  RAISES  HIS  VOICE 

conversation,  for  such  all  three  seemed  to  find 
it,  Mr.  Saffron  finished  his  wine,  handed  the 
glass  to  Beaumaroy,  and  took  a  cordial  leave 
of  Alec  Naylor.  "It's  time  for  me  to  be  in 
bed,  but  don't  hurry  away,  Captain.  You  won't 
disturb  me,  I'm  a  good  sleeper.  Good-bye.  I 
sha'n't  want  you  any  more  to-night,  Hector." 

Beaumaroy  handed  him  his  candle  again,  and 
held  the  door  open  for  him  as  he  went  out. 

Alec  Naylor  clapped  his  cap  back  on  his  head. 
"I'm  off  too,"  he  said  abruptly. 

"Well,  you  insisted  on  seeing  him,  and  you've 
seen  him.  What  about  it  now?"  asked  Beau- 
maroy. t 

Alec  eyed  him  with  a  puzzled  baffled  suspi- 
cion. "You  switched  him  on  to  that  subject  on 
purpose,  and  by  means  of  something  uncommon 
like  a  lie." 

"A  little  artifice!  I  knew  it  would  interest 
you,  and  it's  quite  one  of  his  hobbies.  I  don't 
know  much  about  his  past  life,  but  I  think  he 
must  have  had  something  to  do  with  military 
tailoring.  A  designer  at  the  War  Office,  per- 

131 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

haps."  Beaumaroy  gave  a  low  laugh,  rather 
mocking  and  malicious.  "Still,  that  doesn't 
prove  a  man  mad,  does  it?  Perhaps  it  ought  to, 
but  in  general  opinion  it  doesn't,  any  more  than 
reciting  poetry  in  bed  does." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  he  was  reciimg 
poetry  when " 

"Well,  it  couldn't  have  sounded  worse  if  he 
had  been,  could  it?" 

Now  he  was  openly  laughing  at  the  Captain's 
angry  bewilderment.  He  knew  that  Alec  Nay- 
lor  did  not  believe  a  word  of  what  he  was  saying 
or  suggesting;  but  yet  Alec  could  not  pass  his 
guard,  nor  wing  a  shaft  between  the  joints  of 
his  harness.  If  he  got  into  difficulties  through 
heedlessness,  at  least  he  made  a  good  shot  at 
getting  out  of  them  again  by  his  dexterity. 
Only,  of  course,  suspicion  remains  suspicion, 
even  though  it  be,  for  the  moment,  baffled.  And 
it  could  not  be  denied  that  suspicions  were  piling 
up — Captain  Alec,  Irechester,  even,  on  one  little 
point,  Doctor  Mary!  And  possibly  those  two 
fellows  outside — one  of  them  short  and  stumpy 

132 


CAPTAIN  ALEC  RAISES  HIS  VOICE 

— had  their  suspicions  too,  though  these  might 
be  directed  to  another  point.  He  gave  one  of 
his  little  shrugs  as  he  followed  the  silent  Captain 
to  the  garden  gate. 

"Good-night.  Thanks  again.  And  I  hope  we 
shall  meet  soon,"  he  said  cheerily. 

Alec  gave  him  a  brief  "Good-night"  and  a 
particularly  formal  military  salute. 


CHAPTER  IX 

DOCTOR  MARY'S  ULTIMATUM 

EVEN  Captain  Alec  was  not  superior  to  the 
foibles  which  beset  humanity.  If  it  had  been 
his  conception  of  duty  which  impelled  him  to 
take  a  high  line  with  Beaumaroy,  there  was  now 
in  his  feelings,  although  he  did  not  realize  the 
fact,  an  alloy  of  less  precious  metal.  He  had 
demanded  an  ordeal,  a  test — that  he  should  see 
Mr.  Saffron  and  judge  for  himself.  The  test 
had  been  accepted;  he  had  been  worsted  in  it. 
His  suspicions  were  not  laid  to  rest — far  from 
it;  but  they  were  left  unjustified  and  uncon- 
firmed. He  had  nothing  to  go  upon,  nothing  to 
show.  He  had  been  baffled,  and,  moreover, 
bantered  and  almost  openly  ridiculed.  In  fact, 
Beaumaroy  had  been  too  many  for  him,  the 
subtle  rogue! 

This  conception  of  the  case  colored  his  looks 
134 


DOCTOR  MARY'S  ULTIMATUM 

and  pointed  his  words  when  Tower  Cottage  and 
its  occupants  were  referred  to,  and  most  mark- 
edly when  he  spoke  of  them  to  Cynthia  Wai- 
ford;  for  in  talking  to  her  he  naturally  allowed 
himself  greater  freedom  than  he  did  with 
others;  talking  to  her  had  become  like  talking 
to  himself,  so  completely  did  she  give  him  back 
what  he  bestowed  on  her,  and  re-echc  to  his  mind 
its  own  voice.  Such  perfect  sympathy  induces 
a  free  outpouring  of  inner  thoughts,  and  rein- 
forces the  opinions  of  which  it  so  unreservedly 
approves. 

Cynthia  did  more  than  elicit  and  reinforce 
Captain  Alec's  opinion;  she  also  disseminated  it 
— at  Old  Place,  at  the  Irechesters',  at  Doctor 
Mary's,  through  all  the  little  circle  in  which  she 
was  now  a  constant  and  a  favorite  figure.  In 
the  light  of  her  experience  of  men,  so  limited 
and  so  sharply  contrasted,  she  made  a  simple 
classification  of  them;  they  were  Cransters  or 
Alecs;  and  each  class  acted  after  its  kind. 
Plainly  Beaumaroy  was  not  an  Alec;  therefore 
he  was  a  Cranster,  and  Cranster-like  actions 

135 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

were  to  be  expected  from  him,  of  such  special 
description  as  his  circumstances  and  temptations 
might  dictate. 

She  poured  this  simple  philosophy  into  Doc- 
tor Mary's  ears,  vouching  Alec's  authority  for 
its  application  to  Beaumaroy.  The  theory  was 
too  simple  for  Mary,  whose  profession  had 
shown  her  at  all  events  something  of  the  com- 
plexity of  human  nature;  and  she  was  no  in- 
fallibilist;  she  would  bow  unquestioningly  to  no 
man's  authority,  not  even  to  Alec's,  much  as  she 
liked  and  admired  him.  There  was  even  a 
streak  of  contrariness  in  her;  what  she  might 
have  said  to  herself  she  was  prone  to  criticize  or 
contradict,  if  it  were  too  confidently  or  urgently 
pressed  on  her  by  another;  perhaps,  too,  Cyn- 
thia's claim  to  be  the  Captain's  mouthpiece 
stirred  up  in  her  a  latent  resentment;  it  was  not 
to  be  called  a  jealousy;  it  was  rather  an  amused 
irritation  at  both  the  divinity  and  his  worshiper. 
His  worshipers  can  sometimes  make  a  divinity 
look  foolish. 

Her  own  interview  with  Beaumaroy  at  the 
136 


DOCTOR  MARY'S  ULTIMATUM 

Cottage  had  left  her  puzzled,  distrustful — and 
attracted.  She  suspected  him  vaguely  of  want- 
ing to  use  her  for  some  purpose  of  his  own;  in 
spite  of  the  swift  plausibility  of  his  explanation, 
she  was  nearly  certain  that  he  had  lied  to  her 
about  the  combination  knife-and-fork.  Yet  his 
account  of  his  own  position  in  regard  to  Mr. 
Saffron  had  sounded  remarkably  candid,  and 
the  more  so  because  he  made  no  pretensions  to 
an  exalted  attitude.  It  had  been  left  to  her  to 
define  the  standard  of  sensitive  honor;  his  had 
been  rather  that  of  safety  or,  at  the  best,  that 
of  what  the  world  would  think,  or  even  of  what 
the  hated  cousins  might  attempt  to  prove.  But 
there  again  she  was  distrustful,  both  of  him  and 
of  her  own  judgment.  He  might  be — it  seemed 
likely — one  of  those  men  who  conceal  the  good 
as  well  as  the  bad  in  themselves,  one  of  the 
morally  shy  men.  Or  again,  perhaps,  one  of  the 
morally  diffident,  who  shrink  from  arrogating 
to  themselves  high  standards  because  they  fear 
for  their  own  virtue  if  it  be  put  to  the  test,  and 
cling  to  the  power  of  saying,  later  on,  "Well, 

137 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

I  told  you  not  to  expect  too  much  from  me!" 
Such  various  types  of  men  exist,  and  they  do 
not  fall  readily  into  either  of  Cynthia's  two 
classes;  they  are  neither  Cransters  nor  Alecs; 
certainly  not  in  thought,  probably  not  in  con- 
duct. He  had  said  at  Old  Place,  the  first  time 
that  she  met  him,  that  the  war  had  destroyed 
all  his  scruples.  That  might  be  true;  but  it  was 
hardly  the  remark  of  a  man  naturally  un- 
scrupulous. 

She  met  him  one  day  at  Old  Place  about  a 
week  after  Christmas.  The  Captain  was  not 
there;  he  was  at  her  own  house,  with  Cynthia. 
With  the  rest  of  the  family  Beaumaroy  was  at 
his  best;  gaily  respectful  to  Mrs.  Naylor,  merry 
with  Gertie,  exchanging  cut  and  thrust  with  old 
Mr.  Naylor,  easy  and  cordial  towards  herself. 
Certainly  an  attractive  human  being  and  a 
charming  companion,  pre-eminently  natural. 
"One  talks  of  taking  people  as  one  finds  them," 
old  Naylor  said  to  her  when  they  were  left 
alone  together  for  a  few  minutes  by  the  fire, 
while  the  others  chatted  by  the  window.  "That 

138 


DOCTOR  MARY'S  ULTIMATUM 

fellow  takes  himself  as  he  finds  himself!  Not 
as  a  pattern,  a  failure,  or  a  problem,  but  just 
as  a  fact — a  psychological  fact." 

"That  rather  shuts  out  effort,  doesn't  it? 
Well,  I  mean " 

"Strivings?"  Mr.  Naylor  smiled.  "Yes,  it 
does.  On  the  other  hand,  it  gives  such  free  play. 
That's  what  makes  him  interesting,  makes  you 
think  about  him."  He  laughed.  "Oh,  I  dare 
say  the  surroundings  help  too — we're  all  rather 
children — old  Saffron,  and  the  Devil,  and  Cap- 
tain Duggle,  and  the  rest  of  it!  The  brain  isn't 
overworked  down  here;  we  like  to  find  an  out- 
let." 

"That  means  you  think  there's  nothing  in  it 
really?" 

"In  what?"  retorted  old  Naylor  briskly. 

But  Mary  was  equal  to  him.  "My  lips  are 
sealed  professionally,"  she  smiled.  "But  hasn't 
your  son  said  anything?" 

"Admirable  woman!  Yes,  Alec  has  said  a 
few  things;  and  the  young  lady  gives  it  us,  too. 
For  my  part,  I  think  Beaumaroy's  just  drifting. 

139 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

He'll  take  the  gifts  of  fortune  if  they  come,  but 
I  don't  think  there's  much  deliberate  design 
about  it.  Ah,  now  you're  smiling  in  a  superior 
way,  Doctor  Mary!  I  charge  you  with  secret 
knowledge.  Or  are  you  puffed  up  by  having 
superseded  Irechester?" 

"I  was  never  so  distressed  and — well,  embar- 
rassed at  anything  in  my  life." 

"Well,  that,  if  you  ask  me,  does  look  a  bit 
queer.  Sort  of  fits  in  with  Alec's  theory." 

Mary's  discretion  gave  way  a  little.  "Or  with 
Mr.  Beaumaroy's?  Which  is  that  I'm  a  fool, 
I  think." 

"And  that  Irechester  isn't?"  His  eyes 
twinkled  in  good-humored  malice.  "Talking  of 
what  this  and  that  person  thinks  of  himself  and 
of  others,  Irechester  thinks  himself  something  of 
an  alienist." 

Her  eyes  grew  suddenly  alert.  "He's  never 
talked  to  me  on  that  subject." 

"Perhaps  he  doesn't  think  it's  one  of  yours. 
Perhaps  your  studies  haven't  lain  that  way? 

140 


DOCTOR  MARY'S  ULTIMATUM 

After  all,  no  medical  man  can   study   every- 
thing!" 

"Don't  be  naughty,  Mr.  Naylor!"  said  Doctor 
Mary. 

"He  tells  me  that,  in  cases  where  the  condi- 
tion— the  condition  I  think  he  called  it — is  in 
doubt,  he  fixes  his  attention  on  the  eyes  and  the 
voice.  He  couldn't  give  me  any  very  clear  de- 
scription of  what  he  found  in  the  eyes.  I  couldn't 
quite  make  out,  anyhow,  what  he  meant,  unless 
it  was  a  sort  of  meaninglessness,  a  want  of  what 
you  might  call  intellectual  focus.  Do  you  fol- 
low me?" 

"Yes,  I  think  I  know  what  you  mean." 

"But  with  regard  to  the  voice  I  distinctly; 
remember  that  he  used  the  word  'metallic.' ' 

"Why,  that's  the  word  Cynthia  used " 

"I  dare  say  it  is.  It's  the  word  Alec  used  in 
describing  the  voice  in  which  old  Mr.  Saffron 
recited  his  poem,  or  whatever  it  was,  in  bed." 

"But  I've  talked  to  Mr.  Saffron;  his  voice 
isn't  like  that;  it's  a  little  high,  but  full  and 
rather  melodious." 

141 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

"Oh,  well  then "  He  spread  out  his  hands, 

as  though  acknowledging  a  check.  "Still,  the 
voice  described  as  metallic  seems  to  have  been 
Mr.  Saffron's;  at  a  certain  moment  at  least. 
As  a  merely  medical  question  of  some  interest, 
I  wonder  if  such  a  symptom  or  sign  of — er — 
irritability  could  be  intermittent,  coming  and  go- 
ing with  the — er — fits!  Irechester  didn't  say 
anything  on  that  point.  Have  you  any  opinion?" 

"None.  I  don't  know.  I  should  like  to  ask 
Dr.  Irechester."  Then,  with  a  sudden  smile,  she 
amended,  "No,  I  shouldn't!" 

"And  why  not,  pray?  Professional  eti- 
quette?" 

"No,  pride.  Dr.  Irechester  laughed  at  me. 
I  think  I  see  why  now;  and  perhaps  why  Mr. 

Beaumaroy "     She  broke  off  abruptly,  the 

slightest  gesture  of  her  hand  warning  Naylor 
also  to  be  silent. 

Having  said  good-bye  to  his  friends  by  the 
window,  Beaumaroy  was  sauntering  across  the 
room  to  pay  the  like  courtesy  to  herself  and 
Naylor.  Mary  rose  to  her  feet;  there  was  an 

142 


DOCTOR  MARY'S  ULTIMATUM 

air  of  decision  about  her,  and  she  addressed 
Beaumaroy  almost  before  he  was  within  speaking 
distance  as  it  is  generally  reckoned  in  society. 

"If  you're  going  home,  Mr.  Beaumaroy,  shall 
we  walk  together?  It's  time  I  was  off,  too." 

Beaumaroy  looked  a  little  surprised,  but  un- 
doubtedly pleased.  "Well,  now,  what  a  delight- 
ful way  of  prolonging  a  delightful  visit.  I'm 
truly  grateful,  Dr.  Arkroyd." 

"Oh,  you  needn't  be!"  said  Mary  with  a  little 
toss  of  her  head. 

Naylor  watched  them  with  amusement.  "He'll 
catch  it  on  that  walk!"  he  was  thinking.  "She's 
going  to  let  him  have  it!  I  wish  I  could  be 
there  to  hear."  He  spoke  to  them  openly:  "I'm 
sorry  you  must  both  go,  but,  since  you  must, 
go  together.  Your  walk  will  be  much  pleas- 
anter." 

Mary  understood  him  well  enough,  and  gave 
him  a  flash  from  her  eyes.  But  Beaumaroy 's 
face  betrayed  nothing,  as  he  murmured  politely: 
"To  me,  at  all  events,  Mr.  Naylor." 

Naylor  was  not  wrong  as  to  Mary's  mood 
143 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 


and  purpose.  But  she  did  not  find  it  easy  to 
begin.  Pretty  quick  at  a  retort  herself,  she 
could  often  foresee  the  retorts  open  to  her  in- 
terlocutor. Beaumaroy  had  provided  himself 
with  plenty:  the  old  man's  whim;  the  access  to 
the  old  man  so  willingly  allowed,  not  only  to 
her  but  to  Captain  Alec;  his  own  candor  car- 
ried to  the  verge  of  self -betrayal.  Oh,  he  would 
be  full  of  retorts,  supple  and  dexterous  ones! 
[Ajs  this  hostile  accusation  passed  through  her 
mind,  she  awoke  to  the  fact  that  she  was,  at  the 
same  moment,  regarding  his  profile  (he,  too,  was 
silent,  no  doubt  lying  in  wait  to  trip  up  her 
opening!)  with  interest,  even  with  some  ap- 
proval. He  seemed  to  feel  her  glance,  for  he 
turned  towards  her  quickly — so  quickly  that  she 
had  no  time  to  turn  her  eyes  away. 

"Doctor  Mary" — the  familiar  mode  of  ad- 
dress habitually  used  at  the  house  which  they 
had  just  left  seemed  to  slip  out  without  his  con- 
sciousness of  it — "You've  got  something  against 
me;  I  know  you  have!  I'm  sensitive  that  way, 

144 


DOCTOR  MARY'S  ULTIMATUM 

though  not,  perhaps,  in  another.  Now,  out 
with  it!" 

"You'd  silence  me  with  a  clever  answer.  I 
think  that  you  sometimes  make  the  mistake  of 
supposing  that  to  be  silenced  is  the  same  thing 
as  being  convinced.  You  silenced  Captain  Nay- 
lor — oh,  I  don't  mean  you've  prevented  him 
from  talking! — I  mean  you  confuted  him,  you 
put  him  in  the  wrong,  but  you  certainly  didn't 
convince  him." 

"Of  what?"  he  asked  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"You  know  that.  Let  us  suppose  his  idea 
was  all  nonsense;  yet  your  immediate  object  was 
to  put  it  out  of  his  head."  She  suddenly  added, 
"I  think  your  last  question  was  a  diplomatic 
blunder,  Mr.  Beaumaroy.  You  must  have 
known  what  I  meant.  What  was  the  good  of 
pretending  not  to?" 

Beaumaroy  stopped  still  in  the  road  for  a 
moment,  looking  at  her  with  a  rueful  amusement. 
"You're  not  so  easily  silenced,  after  all!"  he 
said,  starting  to  walk  on  again. 

"You  encourage  me."  To  tell  the  truth, 
145 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

Mary  was  not  only  encouraged,  she  was  pleased 
by  the  hit  she  had  scored,  and  flattered  by  his 
acknowledgment  of  it.  "Well,  then,  I'll  put 
another  point.  You  needn't  answer  if  you  don't 
like." 

"I  shall  answer  if  I  can,  depend  on  it!"  He 
laughed,  and  Mary,  for  a  brief  instant,  joined 
in  his  laugh.  His  sudden  lapses  into  candor 
seemed  somehow  to  put  the  serious  hostile  ques- 
tioner ridiculously  in  the  wrong.  Could  a  man 
like  that  really  have  anything  to  conceal? 

But  she  held  to  her  purpose.  "You're  a 
friendly  sort  of  man,  you  offer  and  accept  at- 
tentions and  kindnesses,  you're  not  stand-offish, 
or  haughty,  or  sulky;  you  make  friends  easily, 
especially,  perhaps,  with  women;  they  like  you, 
and  like  to  be  pleasant  and  kind  to  you.  There  are 
men — patients,  I  mean — very  hard  to  deal  with; 
men  who  resent  being  ill,  resent  having  to  have 
things  done  to  them  and  for  them,  who  especially 
resent  the  services  of  women,  even  of  nurses — 
I  mean  in  quite  indifferent  things,  not  merely  in 
things  where  a  man  may  naturally  shrink  from 

146 


DOCTOR  MARY'S  ULTIMATUM 

their  help.  Well,  you  don't  seem  that  sort  of 
man  in  the  least."  She  looked  at  him,  as  she 
ended  this  appreciation  of  him,  as  though  she 
expected  an  answer  or  a  comment.  Beaumaroy 
made  neither;  he  walked  on,  not  eyen  looking 
at  her. 

"And  you  can't  have  been  troubled  long  with 
that  wound.  It  evidently  healed  up  quickly  and 
sweetly." 

Beaumaroy  looked  for  an  instant  at  his 
maimed  hand  with  a  critical  air;  but  he  was  still 
silent. 

"So  that  I  wonder  you  didn't  do  as  most 
patients  do — let  the  nurse,  or,  if  you  were  still 
disabled  after  you  came  out,  a  friend  or  some- 
body, cut  up  your  food  for  you  without  provid- 
ing yourself  with  that  implement."  He  turned 
his  head  quickly  towards  her.  "And  if  you  ask 
me  what  implement  I  mean,  I  shall  answer — the 
one  you  tried  to  snatch  from  the  sideboard  at 
Tower  Cottage  before  I  could  see  it." 

It  was  a  direct  challenge;  she  charged  him 
with  a  lie.  Beaumaroy's  face  assumed  a  really 

147 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

troubled  expression,  a  thing  rare  for  it  to  do. 
Yet  it  was  not  an  ashamed  or  abashed  expres- 
sion; it  just  seemed  to  recognize  that  a  trouble- 
some difficulty  had  arisen.  He  set  a  slower  pace 
and  prodded  the  road  with  his  stick.  Mary 
pushed  her  advantage.  "Your — your  improviza- 
tion  didn't  satisfy  me  at  the  time,  and  the  more 
I've  thought  over  it,  the  less  have  I  found  it 
convincing." 

He  stopped  again,  turning  round  to  her.  He 
slapped  his  left  hand  against  the  side  of  his  leg. 
"Well,  there  it  is,  Doctor  Mary!  You  must 
make  what  you  can  of  it." 

It  was  complete  surrender  as  to  the  combina- 
tion knife-and-fork.  He  was  beaten,  on  that 
point  at  least,  and  owned  it.  His  lie  was  found 
out.  "It's  dashed  difficult  always  to  remember 
that  you're  a  doctor,"  he  broke  out  the  next 
minute. 

Mary  could  not  help  laughing;  but  her  eyes 
were  still  keen  and  challenging  as  she  said, 
"Perhaps  you'd  better  change  your  doctor  again, 

148 


DOCTOR  MARY'S  ULTIMATUM 

Mr.  Beaumaroy.  You  haven't  found  one  stupid 
enough!" 

Again  Beaumaroy  had  no  defense;  his  non- 
plussed air  confessed  that  maneuver,  too.  Mary 
dropped  her  rallying  tone  and  went  on  gravely: 
"Unless  I'm  treated  with  confidence  and  sin- 
cerity, I  can't  continue  to  attend  Mr.  Saffron." 

"That's  your  ultimatum,  is  it,  Doctor  Mary?" 

She  nodded  sharply  and  decisively.  Beau- 
maroy meditated  for  a  few  seconds.  Then  he 
shook  his  head  regretfully.  "It's  no  use.  I 
daren't  trust  you,"  he  said. 

Mary  laughed  again,  this  time  in  amazed  re- 
sentment of  his  impudence.  "You  can't  trust 
me !  I  think  it's  the  other  way  round.  It  seems 
to  me  that  the  boot's  on  the  other  leg." 

"Not  as  I  see  it."  Then  he  smiled  slowly,  as 
it  were  tentatively.  "Or  would  you — I  wonder 
if  you  could — possibly — well,  stand  in  with  me?" 

"Are  you  offering  me  a — a  partnership?"  she 
asked  indignantly. 

He  raised  his  hand  in  a  seeming  protest,  and 
spoke  now  hastily  and  in  some  confusion.  "Not 

149 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

as  you  understand  it.  I  mean,  as  you  probably 
understand  it,  from  what  I  said  to  you  that  night 
at  the  Cottage.  There  are  features  in  the — well, 
there  are  things  that  I  admit  have — have  passed 
through  my  mind,  without  being  what  you'd  call 
settled.  Oh,  yes,  without  being  in  the  least 
settled.  Well,  for  the  sake  of  your  help  and — 
er — cooperation,  those — those  features  could  be 
dropped.  And  then  perhaps — if  only  your — 

your  rules  and  etiquette " 

Mary  scornfully  cut  short  his  embarrassed 
pleadings.  "There's  a  good  deal  more  than  rules 
and  etiquette  involved.  It  seems  to  me  that  it's 
a  matter  of  common  honesty  rather  than  of  rules 

and  etiquette " 

"Yes,  but  you  don't  understand " 

She  cut  him  short  again.  "Mr.  Beaumaroy, 
after  this,  after  your  suggestion  and  all  the  rest 
of  it,  there  must  be  an  end  of  all  relations  be- 
tween us — professionally  and,  so  far  as  possible, 
socially  too,  please.  I  don't  want  to  be  self- 
righteous,  but  I  feel  bound  to  say  that  you  have 
misunderstood  my  character." 

150 


DOCTOR  MARY'S  ULTIMATUM 

Her  voice  quivered  at  the  end,  and  almost 
broke.  She  was  full  of  a  grieved  indignation. 

They  had  come  opposite  the  cottage  now. 
Beaumaroy  stopped,  and  stood  facing  her. 
Though  dusk  had  fallen,  it  was  a  clear  evening; 
she  could  see  his  face  plainly;  obviously  he  was 
in  deep  distress.  "I  wouldn't  have  offended  you 
for  the  world.  I — I  like  you  far  too  much, 
Doctor  Mary." 

"You  imputed  your  own  standards  to  me. 
That's  all  there  is  about  it,  I  suppose,"  she  said 
in  a  scornful  sadness.  He  looked  very  miser- 
able. Compassion,  and  the  old  odd  attraction 
which  he  had  for  her,  stirred  in  her  mind.  Her 
voice  grew  soft,  and  she  held  out  her  hand.  "I'm 
sorry  too,  very  sorry,  that  it  should  have  to  be 
good-bye  between  us." 

Beaumaroy  did  not  take  her  proffered  hand, 
or  even  seem  to  notice  it.  He  stood  quite  still. 

"I'm  damned  if  I  know  what  I'm  to  do  now!" 

Close  on  the  heels  of  his  despairing  confes- 
sion of  helplessness — for  such  it  undoubtedly 
seemed  to  me — came  the  noise  of  an  opening 

151 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

door,  a  light  from  the  inside  of  the  Cottage,  a 
patter  of  quick-moving  feet  on  the  flagged  path 
that  led  to  the  garden  gate.  The  next  moment 
Mary  saw  the  figure  of  Mr.  Saffron,  in  his  old 
gray  shawl,  standing  at  the  gate.  He  was  wav- 
ing his  right  arm  in  an  excited  way,  and  his 
hand  held  a  large  sheet  of  paper. 

"Hector!  Hector,  my  dear,  dear  boy!  The 
news  has  come  at  last.  You  can  be  off  to- 
morrow !" 

Beaumaroy  started  violently,  glanced  at  his 
old  friend's  strange  figure,  glanced  once,  too,  at 
Mary;  the  expression  of  utter  despair  which  his 
face  had  worn  seemed  modified  into  one  of 
humorous  bewilderment. 

"Yes,  yes,  you  can  start  to-morrow  for 
Morocco,  my  dear  boy!"  cried  old  Mr.  Saffron. 

Beaumaroy  lifted  his  hat  to  her,  cried,  "I'm 
coming,  sir!"  turned  on  his  heel,  and  strode 
quickly  up  to  Mr.  Saffron.  She  watched  him 
open  the  gate  and  take  the  old  gentleman  by 
the  arm;  she  heard  the  murmur  of  his  voice 
speaking  soft  accents  as  the  pair  walked  up  the 

152 


DOCTOR  MARY'S  ULTIMATUM 

path  together.  They  passed  into  the  house,  and 
the  door  was  shut. 

Mary  stood  where  she  was  for  a  moment,  then 
moved  slowly,  hesitatingly,  yet  as  though  under 
a  lure  which  she  could  not  resist.  Just  outside 
the  gate  lay  something  that  gleamed  white 
through  the  darkness.  It  was  the  sheet  of  paper. 
Mr.  Saffron  had  dropped  it  in  his  excitement, 
and  Beaumaroy  had  not  noticed. 

Mary  stole  forward  and  picked  it  up  stealthily; 
she  was  incapable  of  resisting  her  curiosity  or 
even  of  stopping  to  think  about  her  action.  She 
held  it  up  to  what  light  there  was,  and  strained 
her  eyes  to  examine  it.  So  far  as  she  could  see, 
it  was  covered  with  dots,  dashes,  lines,  queerly 
drawn  geometrical  figures — a  mass  of  meaning- 
less hieroglyphics.  She  dropped  it  again  where 
she  had  found  it,  and  made  off  home  with  guilty 
swiftness. 

Yes,  there  had  been,  this  time,  a  distinctly 
metallic  ring  in  old  Mr.  Saffron's  voice. 


158 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  MAGICAL  WORD  MOROCCO! 

WHEN  Mary  arrived  home,  she  found  Cyn- 
thia and  Captain  Alec  still  in  possession  of  the 
drawing-room;  their  manner  accused  her  legiti- 
mate entry  into  the  room  of  being  an  outrageous 
intrusion.  She  took  no  heed  of  that,  and  indeed 
little  heed  of  them.  To  tell  the  truth,  she  was 
ashamed  to  confess,  but  it  was  the  truth,  she 
felt  rather  tired  of  them  that  evening.  Their 
affair  deserved  every  laudatory  epithet,  except 
that  of  interesting;  so  she  declared  peevishly 
within  herself  as  she  tried  to  join  in  conversa- 
tion with  them.  It  was  no  use.  They  talked  on, 
and  in  justice  to  them  it  may  be  urged  that  they 
were  fully  as  bored  with  Mary  as  she  was  with 
them;  so  naturally  their  talents  did  not  shine 
their  brightest.  But  they  had  plenty  to  say  to 
one  another,  and  dutifully  threw  in  a  question 

154 


THE  MAGICAL  WORD  MOROCCO! 

or  a  reference  to  Mary  every  now  and  then.  Sit- 
ting apart  at  the  other  end  of  the  long  low  room 
— it  ran  through  the  whole  depth  of  her  old- 
fashioned  dwelling  —  she  barely  heeded  and 
barely  answered.  They  smiled  at  one  another 
and  were  glad. 

She  was  very  tired;  her  feelings  were  wounded, 
her  nerves  on  edge;  she  could  not  even  attempt 
any  cool  train  of  reasoning.  The  outcome  of 
her  talk  with  Beaumaroy  filled  her  mind  rather 
than  the  matter  of  it;  and,  more  even  than  that, 
the  figure  of  the  man  seemed  to  be  with  her, 
almost  to  stand  before  her,  with  his  queer  alterna- 
tions of  despair  and  mirth,  of  defiance  and 
pleading,  of  derision  and  alarm.  One  moment 
she  was  intensely  irritated  with  him;  in  the  next 
she  half  forgave  the  plaintive  image  which  the 
fancy  of  her  mind  conjured  up  before  her  eyes. 

Her  eyes  closed — she  was  so  very  tired,  the 
fight  had  taken  it  out  of  her!  To  have  to  do 
things  like  that  was  an  odious  necessity,  which 
had  never  befallen  her  before.  That  man  had 
done — well,  Captain  Alec  was  quite  right  about 

155 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

him!  Yet  still  the  shadowy  image,  though  thus 
reproached,  did  not  depart;  it  was  smiling  at 
her  now  with  its  old  mockery — the  kindly  mock- 
ery which  his  face  wore  before  they  quarrelled, 
and  before  its  light  was  quenched  in  that  for- 
lorn bewilderment.  And  it  seemed  as  though  the 
image  began  to  say  some  words  to  her,  discon- 
nected words,  not  making  a  sentence,  but  yet 
having  for  the  image  a  pregnant  meaning,  and 
seeming  to  her — though  vaguely  and  very  dimly 
— to  be  the  kev  to  what  she  had  to  understand. 

m 

She  was  stupid  not  to  understand  words  so  full 
of  meaning — just  as  stupid  as  Beaumaroy  had 
thought. 

Then  Doctor  Mary  fell  asleep,  sound  asleep; 
she  had  been  very  near  it  for  the  last  ten  minutes. 

Captain  Alec  and  Cynthia  were  in  two  chairs, 
close  side  by  side,  in  front  of  the  fire.  Once 
Cynthia  glanced  over  her  shoulder;  the  Captain 
had  glanced  over  his  in  the  same  direction  al- 
ready. One  of  his  hands  held  one  of  Cynthia's. 
It  was  well  to  be  sure  that  Mary  was  asleep, 
really  asleep. 

156 


THE  MAGICAL  WORD  MOROCCO! 

She  had  gone  to  sleep  on  the  name  of  Beau- 
inaroy;  on  it  she  awoke.  It  came  from  Captain 
Alec's  lips.  He  was  standing  on  the  hearthrug 
with  his  arm  round  Cynthia's  waist,  and  his  other 
hand  raising  one  of  hers  to  his  lips.  He  looked 
admirably  handsome — strong,  protecting,  de- 
voted. And  Cynthia,  in  her  fragile  appealing 
prettiness,  was  a  delicious  foil,  a  perfect  com- 
plement to  the  picture.  But  now,  under  stress 
of  emotion — small  blame  to  a  man  who  was 
making  a  vow  of  eternal  fidelity! — under  stress 
of  emotion,  as,  on  a  previous  occasion,  under  that 
of  indignation,  the  Captain  had  raised  his  voice! 

"Yes,  against  all  the  scoundrels  in  the  world, 
whether  they're  called  Cranster  or  Beaumaroy !" 
he  said. 

Mary's  eyes  opened.  She  sat  up.  "Cranster 
and  Beaumaroy?"  They  were  the  words  which 
her  ears  had  caught.  "What  in  the  world  has 

Mr.  Beaumaroy  to  do  with "    But  she  broke 

off,  as  she  saw  the  couple  by  the  fire.     "But 
what  are  you  two  doing?" 

157 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

Cynthia  broke  away  from  her  lover,  and  ran 
to  her  friend  with  joyous  avowals. 

"I  must  have  been  sound  asleep,"  cried  Mary, 
kissing  her.  Alec  had  followed  across  the  room 
and  now  stood  close  by  her.  She  looked  up  at 
him.  "Oh,  I  see!  She's  to  be  safe  now  from 
such  people?"  On  this  particular  occasion 
Mary's  look  at  the  Captain  was  not  admiring; 
it  was  a  little  scornful. 

"That's  the  idea,"  agreed  the  happy  Alec. 
"Another  idea  is  that  I  trot  you  both  over  in 
the  car  to  Old  Place — to  break  the  news  and  have 
dinner." 

"Splendid!"  cried  Cynthia.  "Do  come, 
Mary!" 

Mary  shook  her  head.  "No;  you  go,  you  two," 
she  said.  "I'm  tired,  and  I  want  to  think."  She 
passed  her  hand  across  her  eyes.  She  seemed  to 
wipe  away  the  mists  of  sleep.  Her  face  sud- 
denly grew  animated  and  exultant.  "No,  I  don't 
want  to  think!  I  know!"  she  exclaimed  em- 
phatically. 

158 


THE  MAGICAL  WORD  MOROCCO! 

"Mary  dear,  are  you  still  asleep?  Are  you 
talking  in  your  sleep?'* 

"The  keyword!  It  came  to  me,  somehow,  in 
my  sleep.  The  keyword — Morocco  1" 

"What  the  deuce  has  Morocco "  Captain 

Alec  began,  with  justifiable  impatience. 

"Ah,  you  never  heard  that,  and,  dear  Captain 
Alec,  you  wouldn't  have  understood  it  if  you 
had.  You  thought  he  was  reciting  poems. 
What  he  was  really  doing " 

"Look  here,  Doctor  Mary,  I've  just  been  ac- 
cepted by  Cynthia,  and  I'm  going  to  take  her 
to  my  mother  and  father.  Can  you  get  your 
mind  on  to  that?"  He  looked  at  her  curiously, 
not  at  all  understanding  her  excitement,  perhaps 
resenting  the  obvious  fact  that  his  Cynthia's  hap- 
piness was  not  foremost  in  her  friend's  mind. 

With  a  great  effort  Mary  brought  herself 
down  to  the  earth — to  the  earth  of  romantic  love 
from  the  heaven  of  professional  triumph.  True, 
the  latter  was  hers,  the  former  somebody  else's. 
"I  do  beg  your  pardon.  I  do  indeed.  And  do  let 
me  kiss  you  again,  Cynthia  darling — and  you, 

159 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

dear  Captain  Alec,  just  once!  And  then  you 
shall  go  off  to  dinner."  She  laughed  excitedly. 
"Yes,  I'm  going  to  push  you  out." 

"Let's  go,  Alec,"  said  Cynthia,  not  unkindly, 
yet  just  a  little  pettishly.  The  great  moment 
of  her  lif  e — surely  as  great  a  moment  as  there  had 
ever  been  in  anybody's  life — had  hardly  earned 
adequate  recognition  from  Mary.  As  usual,  her 
feelings  and  Alec's  were  at  one.  Before  they 
passed  to  other  and  more  important  matters, 
when  they  drove  off  in  the  car  she  said  to  Alec, 
"It  seems  to  me  that  Mary's  strangely  interested 
in  that  Mr.  Beaumaroy.  Had  she  been  dream- 
ing of  him,  Alec?" 

"Looks  like  it!  And  why  the  devil  Morocco?" 
His  intellect  baffled,  Captain  Alec  took  refuge 
in  his  affections. 

Left  alone,  and  so  thankful  for  it,  Doctor 
Mary  did  not  attempt  to  sit  still.  She  walked 
up  and  down,  she  roved  here  and  there,  smoking 
any  quantity  of  cigarettes;  she  would  certainly 
have  forbidden  such  excess  to  a  patient.  The 
keyword;  its  significance  had  seemed  to  come  to 

160 


THE  MAGICAL  WORD  MOROCCO; 

her  in  her  sleep.  Something  in  that  subcon- 
sciousness  theory?  The  word  explained,  linked 
up,  gave  significance  —  that  magical  word 
Morocco ! 

Yes,  they  fell  into  place  now,  the  things  that 
had  been  so  puzzling,  and  that  looked  now  so 
obviously  suggestive.  Even  one  thing  which  she 
had  thought  nothing  about,  which  had  not  struck 
her  as  having  any  significance,  now  took  on  its 
meaning — the  gray  shawl  which  the  old  gentle- 
man so  constantly  wore  swathed  round  his  body, 
enveloping  the  whole  of  it  except  his  right  arm. 
Did  he  wear  the  shawl  while  he  took  his  meals? 
Doctoi  Mary  could  not  tell  as  to  that.  Perhaps 
he  did  not;  at  his  meals  only  Beaumaroy,  and 
perhaps  their  servant,  would  be  present.  But 
he  seemed  to  wear  it  whenever  he  went  abroad, 
whenever  he  was  exposed  to  the  scrutiny  of 
strangers.  That  indicated  secretiveness,  perhaps 
fear,  the  apprehension  of  something.  The  cau- 
tion bred  by  that  might  give  way  under  the  in- 
fluence of  great  cerebral  excitement.  Unques- 
tionably Mr.  Saffron  had  been  very  excited  when 

161 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

he  waved  the  sheet  of  hieroglyphics  and  shouted 
to  Beaumaroy  about  Morocco.  But  whether  he 
wore  the  shawl  or  not  in  the  safe  privacy  of 
Tower  Cottage,  whatever  might  be  the  truth 
about  that — perhaps  he  varied  his  practice  ac- 
cording to  his  condition — on  one  thing  Doctor 
Mary  would  stake  her  life;  he  used  the  combina- 
tion knife-and-fork! 

For  it  was  over  that  implement  that  Beau- 
marojr  had  tripped  up.  It  ought  to  have  been 
hidden  before  she  was  admitted  to  the  cottage. 
Somebody  had  been  careless,  somebody  had 
blundered — whether  Beaumaroy  himself  or  his 
servant  was  immaterial.  Beaumaroy  had  lied, 
readily  and  ingeniously,  but  not  quite  readily 
enough.  The  dart  of  his  hand  had  betrayed  him; 
that,  and  a  look  in  his  eyes,  a  tell-tale  mirth 
which  had  seemed  to  mock  both  her  and  himself, 
and  had  made  his  ingenious  lie  even  at  the  mo- 
ment unconvincing.  Yes,  whether  Mr.  Saffron 
wore  the  shawl  or  not,  he  certainly  used  the  com- 
bination table  implement! 

And  the  "poems?"  The  poems  which  Mr. 
162 


THE  MAGICAL  WORD  MOROCCO! 

Saffron  recited  to  himself  in  bed,  and  which  he 
had  said,  in  Captain  Alec's  hearing,  were  good 
and  "went  well."  It  was  Beaumaroy,  of  course, 
who  had  called  them  poems;  the  Captain  had 
merely  repeated  the  description.  But  with  her 
newly  found  insight  Doctor  Mary  knew  better. 
What  Mr.  Saffron  declaimed  in  that  vibrating, 
metallic  voice,  were  not  poems,  but — speeches ! 

And  "Morocco"  itself!  To  anybody  who  re- 
membered history  for  a  few  years  back,  even 
with  the  general  memory  of  the  man  in  the 
street,  to  anybody  who  had  read  the  controver- 
sies about  the  war,  Morocco  brought  not  puzzle, 
but  enlightenment.  For  had  not  Morocco  been 
really  the  starting  point  of  the  Years  of  Crisis — 
those  years  intermittent  in  excitement,  but  con- 
stant in  anxiety?  Beaumaroy  was  to  start  to- 
morrow for  Morocco — on  the  strength  of  the 
hieroglyphics!  Perhaps  he  was  to  go  on  from 
Morocco  to  Libya;  perhaps  he  was  to  raise  the 
Senussi  (Mary  had  followed  the  history  of  the 
war),  to  make  his  appearance  at  Cairo,  Jeru- 
salem, Bagdad!  He  was  to  be  a  forerunner, 

163 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

was  Mr.  Beaumaroy.  Mr.  Saffron,  his  august 
master,  would  follow  in  due  course!  With  a 
sardonic  smile  she  wondered  how  the  ingenious 
man  would  get  out  of  starting  for  Morocco ;  per- 
haps he  would  not  succeed  in  obtaining  a  pass- 
port, or,  that  excuse  failing,  in  eluding  the 
vigilance  of  the  British  authorities.  Or  some 
more  hieroglyphics  might  come,  carrying  another 
message,  postponing  his  start,  saying  that  the 
propitious  moment  had  not  yet  arrived  after  all. 
There  were  several  devices  open  to  ingenuity; 
many  ways  in  which  Beaumaroy  might  protract 
a  situation  not  so  bad  for  him  even  as  it  stood, 
and  quite  rich  in  possibilities.  Her  acid  smile 
was  turned  against  herself  when  she  remembered 
that  she  had  been  fool  enough  to  talk  to  Beau- 
maroy about  sensitive  honor! 

Well,  never  mind  Mr.  Beaumaroy!  The  case 
as  to  Mr.  Saffron  stood  pretty  plain.  It  was 
queer  and  pitiful,  but  by  no  means  unprece- 
dented. She  might  be  not  much  of  an  alienist, 
as  Dr.  Irechester  had  been  kind  enough  to  sug- 
gest to  Mr.  Naylor,  but  she  had  seen  such  cases 

164 


THE  MAGICAL  WORD  MOROCCO! 

herself — even  stranger  ones,  where  even  higher 
Powers  suffered  impersonation,  with  effects  still 
more  tragically  absurd  to  onlookers.  And  she 
remembered  reading  somewhere  —  was  it  in 
Maudslay — that  in  the  days  of  Napoleon,  when 
princes  and  kings  were  as  ninepins  to  be  set 
up  and  knocked  down  at  the  tyrant's  pleasure, 
the  asylums  of  France  were  full  of  such  great 
folk?  Potentates  there  galore!  If  she  had  Mr. 
Saffron's  "record"  before  her,  she  would  expect 
to  read  of  a  vain  ostentatious  man,  ambitious  in 
his  own  small  way;  the  little  plant  of  these 
qualities  would,  given  a  morbid  physical  condi- 
tion, develop  into  the  fantastic  growth  of  delu- 
sion which  she  had  now  diagnosed  in  the  case 
of  Mr.  Saffron — diagnosed  with  the  assistance 
of  some  lucky  accidents! 

But  what  was  her  duty  now — the  duty  of  Dr. 
Mary  Arkroyd,  a  duly  qualified,  accredited,  re- 
sponsible medical  practitioner?  With  a  slight 
shock  to  her  self-esteem  she  was  obliged  to  con- 
fess that  she  had  only  the  haziest  idea.  Had 
not  people  who  kept  a  lunatic  to  be  licensed  or 

165 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

something?  Or  did  that  apply  only  to  lunatics 
in  the  plural?  And  did  Beaumaroy  keep  Mr. 
Saffron  within  the  meaning  of  whatever  the  law 
might  be?  But  at  any  rate  she  must  do  some- 
thing; the  state  of  things  at  Tower  Cottage 
could  not  go  on  as  it  was.  The  law  of  the  land 
— whatever  it  was — must  be  observed,  Beau- 
maroy must  be  foiled,  and  poor  old  Mr.  Saffron 
taken  proper  care  of.  The  course  of  her  medi- 
tations was  hardly  interrupted  by  the  episode  of 
her  light  evening  meal ;  she  was  back  in  her  draw- 
ing-room by  half  past  eight,  her  mind  engrossed 
with  the  matter  still. 

It  was  a  little  after  nine  when  there  was  a 
ring  at  the  hall  door.  Not  the  lovers  back  so 
early?  She  heard  a  man's  voice  in  the  hall.  The 
next  moment  Beaumaroy  was  shown  in,  and  the 
door  shut  behind  him.  He  stood  still  by  it, 
making  no  motion  to  advance  towards  her.  He 
was  breathing  quickly,  and  she  noticed  beads  of 
perspiration  on  his  forehead.  She  had  sprung 
to  her  feet  at  the  sight  of  him,  and  faced  him 
with  indignation, 

166 


THE  MAGICAL  WORD  MOROCCO! 

"You  have  no  right  to  come  here,  Mr.  Beau- 
maroy,  after  what  passed  between  us  this  after- 
noon." 

"Besides  being,  as  you  saw  yourself,  very  ex- 
cited, my  poor  old  friend  isn't  at  all  well  to- 
night." 

"I'm  very  sorry;  but  I'm  no  longer  Mr. 
Saffron's  medical  attendant.  If  I  declined  to 
be  this  afternoon,  I  decline  ten  times  more  to- 
night." 

"For  all  I  know,  he's  very  ill  indeed,  Dr. 
Arkroyd."  Beaumaroy's  manner  was  very  quiet, 
restrained,  and  formal. 

"I  have  come  to  a  clear  conclusion  about  Mr. 
Saffron's  case  since  I  left  you." 

"I  thought  you  might.  I  suppose  'Morocco' 
put  you  on  the  scent?  And  I  suppose,  too,  that 
you  looked  at  that  wretched  bit  of  paper?" 

"I — I  thought  of  it "  Here  Mary  was 

slightly  embarrassed. 

"You'd  have  been  more  than  human  if  you 
hadn't.  I  was  out  again  after  it  in  five  minutes 
— as  soon  as  I  missed  it;  you'd  gone,  but  I  con- 

167 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

eluded  you'd  seen  it.  He  scribbles  dozens  like 
that." 

"You  seem  to  admit  my  conclusion  about  his 
mental  condition,"  she  observed  stiffly. 

"I  always  admit  when  I  cease  to  be  able  to 
deny.  But  don't  let's  stand  here  talking. 
Really,  for  all  I  know,  he  may  be  dying.  His 
heart  seems  to  me  very  bad." 

"Go  and  ask  Dr.  Irechester." 

"He  dreads  Irechester.  I  believe  the  sight  of 
Irechester  might  finish  him.  You  must  come." 

"I  can't — for  the  reasons  I've  told  you." 

"Why?  My  misdeeds?  Or  your  rules  and 
regulations?  My  God,  how  I  hate  rules  and 
regulations !  Which  of  them  is  it  that  is  perhaps 
to  cost  the  old  man  his  life?" 

Mary  could  not  resist  the  appeal;  that  could 
hardly  be  her  duty,  and  certainly  was  not  her 
inclination.  Her  grievance  was  not  against  poor 
old  Mr.  Saffron,  with  his  pitiful  delusion  of 
greatness,  of  a  greatness,  too,  which  now  had 
suffered  an  eclipse  almost  as  tragical  as  that 

168 


THE  MAGICAL  WORD  MOROCCO! 

which  had  befallen  his  own  reason.  What  an 
irony  in  his  mad  aping  of  it  now! 

"I  will  come,  Mr.  Beaumaroy,  on  condition 
that  you  give  me  candidly  and  truthfully  all  the 
information  which,  as  Mr.  Saffron's  medical  at- 
tendant, I  am  entitled  to  ask." 

"I'll  tell  you  all  I  know  about  him,  and  about 
myself,  too." 

"Your  affairs  and — er — position  matter  to  me 
only  so  far  as  they  bear  on  Mr.  Saffron." 

"So  be  it.  Only  come  quickly;  and  bring  some 
of  your  things  that  may  help  a  man  with  a  bad 
heart." 

Mary  left  him,  went  to  her  surgery,  and  was 
quickly  back  with  her  bag.  "I'll  get  out  the 


car." 


"It'll  take  a  little  longer,  I  know,  but  do  you 
mind  if  we  walk?  Cars  always  alarm  him.  He 
thinks  that  they  come  to  take  him  away.  Every 
car  that  passes  vexes  him;  he  looks  to  see  if  it 

will  stop.  And  when  yours  does "  He 

ended  with  a  shrug. 

For  the  first  time  Mary's  feelings  took  on  a 
169 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

keen  edge  of  pity.  Poor  old  gentleman !  Fancy 
his  living  like  that !  And  cars,  military  cars,  too, 
had  been  so  common  on  the  road  across  the  heath. 

"I  understand.  Let  us  go  at  once.  You 
walked  yourself,  I  suppose?" 

"Ran,"  said  Beaumaroy,  and,  with  the  first 
sign  of  a  smile,  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  brow 
with  the  back  of  his  hand. 

"I'm  ready,  Mr.  Beaumaroy,"  said  Doctor 
Mary. 

They  walked  along  together  in  silence  for  fully 
half  the  way.  Then  Beaumaroy  spoke.  "He 
was  extremely  excited — at  his  worst — when  he 
and  I  went  into  the  cottage.  I  had  to  humor 
him  in  every  way;  it  was  the  only  thing  to  do. 
That  was  followed  by  great  fatigue,  a  sort  of 
collapse.  I  persuaded  him  to  go  to  bed.  I  hope 
we  shall  find  him  there,  but  I  don't  know.  He 
would  let  me  go  only  on  condition  that  I  left 
the  door  of  the  Tower  unlocked,  so  that  he  could 
go  in  there  if  he  wanted  to.  If  he  has,  I'm  afraid 
that  you  may  see  something — well,  something 
rather  bizarre,  Dr.  Arkroyd." 

170 


THE  MAGICAL  WORD  MOROCCO! 

"That's  all  in  the  course  of  my  profession." 

Silence  fell  on  them  again,  till  the  outline  of 
cottage  and  Tower  came  into  view  through  the 
darkness.  Beaumaroy  spoke  only  once  again 
before  they  reached  the  garden  gate. 

"If  he  should  happen  to  be  calmer  now,  I  hope 
you  will  not  consider  it  necessary  to  tell  him  that 
you  suspect  anything  unusual." 

"He  is  secretive?" 

"He  lives  in  terror." 

"Of  what?" 

"Of  being  shut  up.  May  I  lead  the  way  in, 
Dr.  Arkroyd?" 

They  entered  the  cottage,  and  Beaumaroy 
shut  the  door.  A  lamp  was  burning  dimly  in 
the  passage.  He  turned  it  up.  "Would  you 
kindly  wait  here  one  minute?"  Receiving  her 
nod  of  acquiescence,  he  stepped  softly  up  the 
stairs,  and  she  heard  him  open  a  door  above; 
she  knew  it  was  that  of  Mr.  Saffron's  bedroom, 
where  she  had  visited  the  old  man.  She  waited, 
now  with  a  sudden  sense  of  suspense.  It  was 
very  quiet  in  the  cottage. 

171 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

Beaumaroy  was  down  again  in  a  minute. 

"It  is  as  I  feared,"  he  said  quietly.  "He  ha 
got  up  again,  and  gone  into  the  Tower.  Sha] 
I  try  and  get  him  out,  or  will  you — 

"I  will  go  in  with  you,  of  course,  Mr.  Beau 
maroy." 

His  old  mirthful,  yet  rueful,  smile  came  on  hi 
lips — just  for  a  moment.  Then  he  was  grav 
and  formal  again.  "This  way,  then,  if  yoi 
please,  Dr.  Arkroyd,"  he  said  deferentially. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  CAR  BEHIND  THE  TREES 

MR.  PERCY  BENNETT,  that  gentlemanly 
stranger,  was  an  enemy  to  delay;  both  constitu- 
tionally and  owing  to  experience,  averse  from 
dallying  with  fortune;  to  him  a  bird  in  his  hand 
was  worth  a  whole  aviary  on  his  neighbor's  un- 
rifled  premises.  He  thought  that  Beaumaroy 
might  levant  with  the  treasure;  at  any  moment 
that  unwelcome,  though  not  unfamiliar,  tap  on 
the  shoulder,  with  the  words  (gratifying  under 
quite  other  circumstances  and  from  quite  differ- 
ent lips)  "I  want  you,"  might  incapacitate  him 
from  prosecuting  his  enterprise  (he  expressed 
this  idea  in  more  homely  idiom — less  Latinized 
was  his  language,  metaphorical  indeed,  yet 
terse) ;  finally  he  had  that  healthy  distrust  of  his 
accomplices  which  is  essential  to  success  in  a 
career  of  crime;  he  thought  that  Sergeant 
Hooper  might  not  deliver  the  goods! 

173 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

Sergeant  Hooper  demurred ;  he  deprecated  in- 
considerate haste;  let  the  opportunity  be  chosen. 
He  had  served  under  Mr.  Beaumaroy  in  France, 
and  (whatever  faults  Major-General  Punnit 
might  find  with  that  officer)  preferred  that  he 
should  be  off  the  premises  at  the  moment  when 
Mr.  Bennett  and  he  himself  made  unauthorized 
entry  thereon.  "He's  a  hot  'un  in  a  scrap,"  said 
the  Sergeant,  sitting  in  a  public  house  at  Sprots- 
field  on  Boxing  Day  evening,  Mr.  Bennett  and 
sundry  other  excursionists  from  London  being 
present. 

"My  chauffeur  will  settle  him,"  said  Mr.  Ben- 
nett. It  may  seem  odd  that  Mr.  Bennett  should 
have  a  chauffeur;  but  he  had — or  proposed  to 
have — pro  hac  vice — or  ad  hoc;  for  this  particu- 
lar job,  in  fact.  Without  a  car  that  stuff  at 
Tower  Cottage — somewhere  at  Tower  Cottage 
— would  be  difficult  to  shift. 

The  Sergeant  demurred  still,  by  no  means  for 
the  sake  of  saving  Beaumaroy's  skin,  but  still 
purely  for  the  reason  already  given;  yet  he  ad- 
mitted that  he  could  not  name  any  date  on  which 

174 


THE  CAR  BEHIND  THE  TREES 

he  could  guarantee  Beaumaroy's  absence  from 
Tower  Cottage.  "He  never  leaves  the  old 
blighter  alone  later  than  eleven  o'clock  or  so, 
and  rarely  as  late  as  that." 

"Then  any  night's  about  the  same,"  said 
gentleman  Bennett;  "and  now  for  the  scheme, 
dear  N.C.O.!" 

Sergeant  Hooper  despaired  of  the  doors.  The 
house-door  might  possibly  be  negotiated,  though 
at  the  probable  cost  of  arousing  the  notice  of 
Beaumaroy — and  of  the  old  blighter  himself. 
But  the  door  from  the  parlor  into  the  Tower 
offered  insuperable  difficulties.  It  was  always 
locked;  the  lock  was  intricate;  he  had  never  so 
much  as  seen  the  key  at  close  quarters  and,  even 
had  opportunity  offered,  was  quite  unpractised 
in  the  art  of  taking  impressions  of  locks — a  thing 
not  done  with  accuracy  quite  so  easily  as  seems 
sometimes  to  be  assumed. 

"For  my  own  part,"  said  Mr.  Bennett  with 
a  nod,  "I've  always  inclined  to  the  window.  We 
can  negotiate  that  without  any  noise  to  speak 
of,  and  it  oughtn't  to  take  us  more  than  a  few 

175 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

minutes.  Just  deal  boards,  I  expect!  Perhaps 
the  old  gentleman  and  your  pal  Beaumaroy — the 
Sergeant  spat — will  sleep  right  through  it!" 

"If  they  ain't  in  the  Tower  itself,"  suggested 
the  Sergeant  gloomily. 

"Wherever  they  may  be,"  said  gentleman 
Bennett,  with  a  touch  of  irritability — he  was 
himself  a  sanguine  man  and  disliked  a  mind 
fertile  in  objections — "I  suppose  the  stuff's  in 
the  Tower,  isn't  it?" 

"It  goes  in  there,  and  I've  never  seen  it  come 
out,  Mr.  Bennett."  Here  at  least  a  tone  of  con- 
fidence rang  in  the  Sergeant's  voice. 

"But  where  in  the  Tower,  Sergeant?" 

"  'Ow  should  I  know?  I've  never  been  in  the 
blooming  place." 

"It's  really  rather  a  queer  business,"  observed 
Mr.  Bennett,  allowing  himself  for  a  moment,  an 
outside  and  critical  consideration  of  the  matter. 

"Damned,"  said  the  Sergeant  briefly. 

"But,  once  inside,  we're  bound  to  find  it! 
Then — with  the  car — it's  in  London  in  forty 
minutes,  and  in  ten  more  it's — where  it's  going 

176 


THE  CAR  BEHIND  THE  TREES 

to  be;  where  that  is  needn't  worry  you,  my  dear 
Sergeant." 

"What  if  we're  seen  from  the  road?"  urged  the 
pessimistic  Sergeant. 

"There's  never  a  job  about  which  you  can't 
put  those  questions.  What  if  Ludendorff  had 
known  just  what  Foch  was  going  to  do,  Ser- 
geant? At  any  rate  anybody  who  sees  us  is 
two  miles  either  way  from  a  police  station — and 
may  be  a  lot  farther  if  he  tries  to  interfere  with 
us !  It's  a  hundred  to  one  against  anybody  being 
on  the  road  at  that  time  of  night;  we'll  pray  for 
a  dark  night  and  dirty  weather — which,  so  far 
as  I've  observed,  you  generally  get  in  this 
beastly  neighborhood."  He  leant  forward  and 
tapped  the  Sergeant  on  the  shoulder.  "Barring 
accidents,  let's  say  this  day  week;  meanwhile, 
Neddy" — he  smiled  as  he  interjected.  "Neddy 
is  our  chauffeur — Neddy  and  I  will  make  our 
little  plan  of  attack." 

"Don't  be  too  generous!  Don't  leave  all  the 
V.C.  chances  to  me,"  the  Sergeant  implored. 

"Neddy's  fair  glutton  for  'em!  Difficulty  is 
177 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

to  keep  him  from  murder!  And  he  stands  six 
foot  four,  and  weighs  seventeen  stone." 

"I'll  back  him  up — from  be'ind — company  in 
support,"  grinned  the  Sergeant,  considerably 
comforted  by  this  description  of  his  coadjutor. 

"You'll  occupy  the  station  assigned  to  you,  my 
man,"  said  Mr.  Bennett,  with  an  admirable  bur- 
lesque of  the  military  manner.  "The  front  is 
wherever  a  soldier  is  ordered  to  be — a  fine  saying 
of  Lord  Kitchener's!  Remember  it,  Sergeant!" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  Sergeant,  grinning  still. 

He  found  Mr.  Bennett  on  the  whole  amusing 
company,  though  occasionally  rather  alarming; 
for  instance,  there  seemed  to  him  to  be  no  par- 
ticular reason  for  dragging  in  Neddy's  predilec- 
tion for  murder;  though,  of  course,  a  man  of 
his  inches  and  weight  might  commit  murder 
through  some  trifling  and  pardonable  miscal- 
culation of  force.  "Same  as  if  that  Captain 
Naylor  hit  you!"  the  Sergeant  reflected,  as  he 
finished  the  ample  portion  of  rum  with  which 
the  conversation  had  been  lightened.  He  felt 
pleasantly  muzzy,  and  saw  Mr.  Bennett's  clean- 

178 


THE  CAR  BEHIND  THE  TREES 

cut  features  rather  blurred  in  outline.  How- 
ever, the  sandy  wig  and  red  mustache  which  that 
gentleman  wore — in  his  character  as  a  Boxing 
Day  excursionist — were  still  salient  features  even 
to  his  eyes.  Anybody  in  the  room  would  have 
been  able  to  swear  to  them. 

Thus  the  date  of  the  attack  was  settled  and, 
if  only  it  had  been  adhered  to,  things  might  have 
fallen  out  differently  between  Doctor  Mary  and 
Mr.  Beaumaroy.  Events  would  probably  have 
relieved  Mary  from  the  necessity  of  presenting 
her  ultimatum,  and  she  might  never  have  heard 
that  illuminating  word  "Morocco."  But  big 
Neddy  the  Shover — as  his  intimate  friends  were 
wont  to  call  him — was  a  man  of  pleasure  as  well 
as  of  business;  he  was  not  a  bloke  in  an  office; 
he  liked  an  ample  Christmas  vacation  and  was 
now  taking  one  with  a  party  of  friends  at 
Brighton — all  tip-toppers  who  did  the  thing  in 
style  and  spent  their  money  (which  was  not  their 
money )  lavishly.  From  the  attraction  of  this  com- 
pany— not  composed  of  gentlemen  only — Neddy 
refused  to  be  separated.  Mr.  Bennett,  who 

179 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

was  on  thorns  at  the  delay,  could  take  it  or  leave 
it  at  that;  in  any  case  the  job  was,  in  Neddy's 
opinion  (which  he  expressed  with  that  massive 
but  good-humored  scorn  which  is  an  appanage 
of  very  large  men),  a  leap  in  the  dark,  a  pig 
in  a  poke,  blind  hookey;  for  who  really  knew 
how  much  of  the  stuff  the  old  blighter  and  his 
pal  had  contrived  to  shift  down  to  the  Cottage 
in  the  old  brown  bag.  Sometimes  it  looked  light, 
sometimes  it  looked  heavy;  sometimes  perhaps 
it  was  full  of  bricks! 

In  this  mood  Neddy  had  to  be  humored,  even 
though  gentlemanly  Mr.  Bennett  sat  on  thorns. 
The  Sergeant  repined  less  at  the  delay;  he  liked 
the  pickings  which  the  job  brought  him  much 
better  than  the  job  itself,  standing  in  whole- 
some dread  of  Beaumaroy.  It  was  rather  with 
resignation  than  with  joy  that  he  received  from 
Mr.  Bennett  the  news  that  Neddy  had  at  last 
named  the  day  that  would  suit  his  High  Mighti- 
ness— Tuesday  the  7th  of  January  it  was,  and, 
as  it  chanced,  the  very  day  before  Beaumaroy 
was  to  start  for  Morocco!  More  accurately,  the 

180 


THE  CAR  BEHIND  THE  TREES 

attack  would  be  delivered  on  the  actual  day  of 
his  departure — if  he  went.  For  it  was  timed  for 
one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  an  hour  at  which 
the  road  across  the  heath  might  reasonably  be 
expected  to  be  clear  of  traffic.  This  was  an 
especially  important  point,  in  view  of  the  fact 
that  the  window  of  the  Tower  faced  towards 
the  road  and  was  but  four  or  five  yards  distant 
from  it. 

After  a  jovial  dinner — rather  too  jovial  in 
Mr.  Bennett's  opinion,  but  that  was  Neddy's 
only  fault,  he  would  mix  pleasure  with  business 
— the  two  set  out  in  an  Overland  car.  Mr. 
Bennett — whom,  by  the  way,  his  big  friend 
Neddy  called  "Mike,"  and  not  "Percy,"  as  might 
have  been  expected — assumed  his  sandy  wig  and 
red  mustache  as  soon  as  they  were  well  started; 
Neddy  scorned  disguise  for  the  moment,  but  he 
had  a  mask  in  his  pocket.  He  also  had  a  very 
nasty  little  club  in  the  same  pocket,  whereas 
Mr.  Bennett,  carried  no  weapon  of  offense — 
merely  the  tools  of  his  trade,  at  which  he  was 
singularly  expert.  The  friends  had  worked  to- 

181 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

gather  before;  though  Neddy  reviled  Mike  for 
a  coward,  and  Mike  averred  with  curses,  that 
Neddy  would  bring  them  both  to  the  gallows 
some  day,  yet  they  worked  well  together  and 
had  a  respect  for  one  another,  each  allowing  for 
the  other's  idiosyncrasies.  The  true  spirit  of 
partnership!  On  it  alone  can  lasting  and  hon- 
orable success  be  built. 

"Just  match-boarding,  the  Sergeant  says  it  is, 
does  he?"  asked  Neddy,  breaking  a  long  silence, 
which  indeed  had  lasted  until  they  were  across 
Putney  Bridge  and  climbing  the  Hill. 

"Yes,  and  rotten  at  that.  It  oughtn't  to  take 
two  minutes;  then  there'll  be  only  the  window. 
Of  course  we  must  have  a  look  round  first. 
Then,  if  the  coast's  clear,  I'll  nip  in  and  shove 
something  up  against  the  door  of  the  place  while 
you're  following.  The  Sergeant's  to  stay  on 
guard  at  the  door  of  the  house,  so  that  we  can't 
be  taken  in  the  rear.  See?" 

"Righto!" 

"Then — well,  we've  got  to  find  the  stuff,  and 
when  we've  found  it,  you've  got  to  carry  it, 

182 


THE  CAR  BEHIND  THE  TREES 

Neddy.    Don't  mind  if  it's  a  bit  heavy,  do  you?" 

"I  don't  want  to  overstrain  myself,"  said 
Neddy  jocularly,  "but  I'll  do  my  best  with  it, 
only  hope  it's  there!" 

"It  must  be  there.  Hasn't  got  wings,  has  it? 
At  any  rate  not  till  you  put  it  in  your  pocket, 
and  go  out  for  an  evening  with  the  ladies  1" 

Neddy  paid  this  pleasantry  the  tribute  of  a 
laugh,  but  he  had  one  more  business  question 
to  ask: 

"Where  are  we  to  stow  the  car?  How  far 
off?" 

"The  Sergeant  has  picked  out  a  big  clump 
of  trees,  a  hundred  yards  from  the  cottage  on 
the  Sprotsfield  side,  and  about  thirty  yards  from 
the  road.  Pretty  clear  going  to  it,  bar  the 
bracken — she'll  do  it  easily.  There  she'll  lie, 
snug  as  you  like.  As  we  go  by  Sprotsfield,  the 
car  won't  have  to  pass  the  Cottage  at  all — that's 
an  advantage — and  yet  it's  not  over  far  to  carry 
the  stun3." 

"Sounds  all  right,"  said  Neddy  placidly,  and 
with  a  yawn.  "Have  a  drop?" 

183 


"No,  I  won't — and  I  wish  you  wouldn't, 
Neddy.  It  makes  you  bad-tempered,  and  a  man 
doesn't  want  to  be  bad-tempered  on  these  jobs." 

"Take  the  wheel  a  second  while  I  have  a 
drop,"  said  Neddy,  just  for  all  the  world  as  if 
his  friend  had  not  spoken.  He  unscrewed  the 
top  of  a  large  flask  and  took  a  very  considerable 
"drop."  It  was  only  after  he  had  done  this 
with  great  deliberation  that  ht  observed  good- 
naturedly,  "And  you  go  to  hell,  Mike!  It's  dark, 
ain't  it?  That's  a  bit  of  all  right." 

He  did  not  speak  again  till  they  were  near 
Sprotsfield.  "This  Beaumaroy — queer  name, 
ain't  it? — he's  a  big  chap,  ain't  he,  Mike?" 

"Pretty  fair,  but,  Lord  love  you,  a  baby  be- 
side yourself." 

"Well,  now,  you  told  me  something  the  Ser- 
geant said  about  a  man  as  was  (Neddy,  unlike 
his  friend,  occasionally  tripped  in  his  English) 
really  big." 

"Oh,  that's  Naylor — Captain  Naylor.  But 
he's  not  at  the  cottage;  we're  not  likely  to  meet 
him,  praise  be!" 

184 


THE  CAR  BEHIND  THE  TREES 

"Rather  wish  we  were!  I  want  a  little  bit  of 
exercise,"  said  Neddy. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  but  what  Beaumaroy 
might  give  you  that.  The  Sergeant's  got  tales 
about  him  at  the  war." 

"Oh,  blast  these  soldiers — they  ain't  no  good." 
In  what  he  himself  regarded  as  his  spare  hours, 
that  is  to  say,  the  daytime  hours  wherein  the 
ordinary  man  labors,  Neddy  was  a  highly 
skilled  craftsman,  whose  only  failing  was  a 
tendency  to  be  late  in  the  morning  and  to  fall 
ill  about  the  festive  seasons  of  the  year.  He 
made  lenses,  and,  in  spite  of  the  failing,  his 
work  had  been  deemed  to  be  of  national  impor- 
tance, as  indeed  it  was.  But  that  did  not  excuse 
his  prejudice  against  soldiers. 

They  passed  through  the  outskirts  of  Sprots- 
field ;  Mike — to  use  his  more  familiar  name — had 
made  a  thorough  exploration  of  the  place,  and 
his  directions  enabled  his  chauffeur  to  avoid  the 
central  and  populous  parts  of  the  town.  Then 
they  came  out  on  to  the  open  heath,  passed  Old 
Place,  and  presently — about  half  a  mile  from 

185 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

Tower  Cottage — found  Sergeant  Hooper  wait- 
ing for  them  by  the  roadsidt.  It  was  then  hard 
on  midnight — a  dark  cloudy  night,  very  apt  for 
their  purpose.  With  a  nod,  but  without  a  word, 
the  Sergeant  got  into  the  car,  and  in  cautious 
whispers  directed  its  course  to  the  shelter  of  the 
clump  of  trees;  they  reached  it  after  a  few  hun- 
dred yards  of  smooth  road  and  some  thirty  of 
bumping  over  the  heath.  It  afforded  a  perfect 
screen  from  the  road,  and  on  the  other  side 
there  was  only  untrodden  heath,  no  path  or  track 
being  visible  near  it. 

Neddy  got  out  of  the  car,  but  he  did  not 
forget  his  faithful  flask.  He  offered  it  to  the 
Sergeant  in  token  of  approval.  "Good  place, 
Sergeant,"  he  said;  "does  credit  to  you,  as  a  be- 
ginner. Here,  mate,  hold  on,  though.  It's 
evident  you  ain't  accustomed  to  liquor  glasses!'* 

"When  I  sits  up  so  late,  I  gets  a  kind  of  a 
sinking,"  the  Sergeant  explained  apologetically. 

Mike  flashed  a  torch  on  him  for  a  minute; 
there  was  a  very  uncomfortable  look  in  his  little 
squinty  eyes.  "Sergeant,"  he  said  suavely  but 

186 


THE  CAR  BEHIND  THE  TREES 

gravely,  "my  friend  here  relies  on  you.  He's 
not  a  safe  man  to  disappoint."  He  shifted  the 
light  suddenly  on  to  Neddy,  whose  proportions 
seemed  to  loom  out  prodigious  from  the  sur- 
rounding darkness.  "Are  you,  Neddy?" 

"No,  I'm  a  sensitive  chap,  I  am,"  said  Neddy, 
smiling.  "Don't  you  go  and  hurt  my  pride  in 
you  by  any  sign  of  weakness,  Sergeant." 

The  Sergeant  shivered  a  little.  "I'm  game. 
I'll  stick  it,"  he  protested  valorously. 

"You'd  better!"  Neddy  advised. 

"AH  quiet  at  the  Cottage  as  you  came  by?" 
asked  Mike. 

"Quiet  as  the  grave,  for  what  I  see,"  the  Ser- 
geant answered. 

"All  right.  Mike,  where  are  them  sand- 
wiches? I  feel  like  a  bite.  One  for  the  Sergeant 
too!  But  no  more  flask — no,  you  don't  Ser- 
geant! When'll  we  start,  Mike!" 

"In  about  half-an-hour." 

"Just  nice  time  for  a  snack — oysters  and  stout 
for  you,  my  darling?"  said  jovial  Neddy.  Then 

187 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

— with  a  change  of  voice — "Just  as  well  that 
didn't  pass  us!" 

For  the  sound  of  a  car  came  from  the  road 
they  had  just  left.  It  was  going  in  the  direction 
of  the  Cottage  and  of  Inkston.  Captain  Alec 
was  taking  his  betrothed  home  after  a  joyful 
evening  of  congratulation  and  welcome. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

THE  scene  presented  by  the  interior  of  the 
Tower,  when  Beaumaroy  softly  opened  the  door 
and  signed  to  Doctor  Mary  to  step  forward  and 
look,  was  indeed  a  strange  one,  a  ridiculous  yet 
pathetic  mockery  of  grandeur. 

The  building  was  a  circular  one,  rising  to  a 
height  of  some  thirty-five  feet  and  having  a 
diameter  of  about  ten.  Up  to  about  twelve  feet 
from  the  floor  its  walls  were  draped  with  red 
and  purple  stuffs  of  coarse  material ;  above  them 
the  bare  bricks  and  the  rafters  of  the  roof 
showed  naked.  In  the  middle  of  the  floor,  with 
their  backs  to  the  door  at  which  Mary  and  her 
companion  stood,  were  set  two  small  armchairs 
of  plain  and  cheap  make.  Facing  them,  on  a 
rough  dais  about  three  feet  high  and  with  two 
steps  leading  up  to  it,  stood  a  large  and  deep 

189 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

carved  oaken  armchair.  It  too  was  upholstered 
in  purple,  and  above  and  around  it  were  a  canopy 
and  curtains  of  the  same  color.  This  strange 
erection  was  set  with  its  back  to  the  one  window 
— that  which  Mr.  Saffron  had  caused  to  be 
boarded  up  soon  after  he  entered  into  occupa- 
tion. The  place  was  lighted  by  candles — two 
tall  standards  of  an  ecclesiastical  pattern,  one 
on  either  side  of  the  great  chair  or  throne,  and 
each  holding  six  large  candles,  all  of  which  were 
now  alight  and  about  half -consumed.  On  the 
throne,  his  spare  wasted  figure  set  far  back  in 
the  recesses  of  its  deep  cushioned  seat  and  his 
feet  resting  on  a  high  hassock,  sat  old  Mr.  Saf- 
fron; in  his  right  hand  he  grasped  a  scepter, 
obviously  a  theatrical  "property,"  but  a  hand- 
some one,  of  black  wood  with  gilt  ornamenta- 
tion; his  left  arm  he  held  close  against  his  side. 
His  eyes  were  turned  up  towards  the  room;  his 
lips  were  moving  as  though  he  were  talking,  but 
no  sound  came. 

Such  was  Doctor  Mary's  first  impression  of 
the  scene;  but  the  next  moment  she  took  in 

190 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

another  feature  of  it,  not  less  remarkable.  To 
the  left  of  the  throne,  to  her  right  as  she  stood 
in  the  doorway  facing  it,  there  was  a  fireplace; 
an  empty  grate,  though  the  night  was  cold.  Im- 
mediately in  front  of  it  was,  unmistakably,  the 
excavation  in  the  floor  which  Mr.  Penrose  had 
described  at  the  Christmas  dinner-party  at  Old 
Place — six  feet  in  length  by  three  in  breadth, 
and  about  four  feet  deep.  Against  the  wall, 
close  by,  stood  a  sheet  of  cast  iron,  which  evi- 
dently served  to  cover  and  conceal  the  aperture; 
by  it  was  thrown  down,  in  careless  disorder,  a 
strip  of  the  same  dull  red  baize  as  covered  the 
rest  of  the  floor  of  the  Tower.  By  the  side  of 
the  sheet  and  the  piece  of  carpet  there  was  an 
old  brown  leather  bag. 

Tradition,  and  Mr.  Penrose,  had  told  the 
truth.  Here  without  doubt  was  Captain  Dug- 
gle's  grave,  the  grave  he  had  caused  to  be  dug 
for  himself,  but  which — be  the  reason  what  it 
might — his  body  had  never  occupied.  Yet  the 
tomb  was  not  entirely  empty.  The  floor  of  it 
was  strewn  with  gold,  to  what  depth  Mary  could 

191 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

not  tell,  but  it  was  covered  with  golden  sov- 
ereigns; there  must  be  thousands  of  them.  They 
gleamed  under  the  light  of  the  candles. 

Mary  turned,  startled,  inquiring,  apprehen- 
sive eyes  on  Beaumaroy.  He  pressed  her  arm 
gently,  and  whispered: 

"I'll  tell  you  presently.  Come  in.  He'll 
notice  us,  I  expect,  in  a  minute.  Mind  you 
curtsey  when  he  sees  you!"  He  led  her  in,  pull- 
ing the  door  to  after  him,  and  placed  her  and  him- 
self in  front  of  the  two  small  armchairs  opposite 
Mr.  Saffron's  throne. 

Beaumaroy  removed  his  hand  from  her  arm, 
but  she  caught  his  wrist  in  one  of  hers  and  stood 
there,  holding  on  to  him,  breathing  quickly,  her 
eyes  now  set  on  the  figure  on  the  throne. 

The  old  man's  lips  had  ceased  to  move;  his 
eyes  had  closed;  he  lay  back  in  the  deep  seat, 
inert,  looking  half -dead,  very  pale  and  waxen  in 
the  face.  For  what  seemed  a  long  time  he  sat 
thus,  motionless  and  almost  without  signs  of 
life,  while  the  two  stood  side  by  side  before  him. 
Mary  glanced  once  at  Beaumaroy;  his  lips  were 

192 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

apart  in  that  half  humorous,  half  compassionate 
smile;  there  was  no  hint  of  impatience  in  his 
bearing. 

At  last  Mr.  Saffron  opened  his  eyes,  and  saw 
them;  there  was  intelligence  in  his  look,  though 
his  body  did  not  move.  Mary  was  conscious  of 
a  low  bow  from  Beaumaroy;  she  remembered 
the  caution  he  had  given  her,  and  herself  made 
a  deep  curtsey;  the  old  man  made  a  slight  in- 
clination of  his  handsome  white  head.  Then, 
after  another  long  pause,  a  movement  passed 
over  his  body — excepting  his  left  arm.  She  saw 
that  he  was  trying  to  rise  from  his  seat,  but  that 
he  had  barely  the  strength  to  achieve  his  pur- 
pose. But  he  persisted  in  his  effort,  and  in  the 
end  rose  slowly  and  tremulously  to  his  feet. 

Then,  utterly  without  warning,  in  a  sudden 
and  shocking  burst  of  that  high,  voluble,  metallic 
speech  which  Captain  Alec  had  heard  through 
the  ceiling  of  the  parlor,  he  began  to  address 
them,  if  indeed  it  were  they  whom  he  addressed, 
and  not  some  phantom  audience  of  Princes, 
Marshals,  Admirals,  or  trembling  sheep-like  re- 

193 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

emits.  It  was  difficult  to  hear  the  words,  hope- 
less to  make  out  the  sense.  It  was  a  farrago 
of  nonsense,  part  of  his  own  inventing,  part  (as 
it  seemed)  wild  and  confused  reminiscences  of 
the  published  speeches  of  the  man  he  aped,  all 
strung  together  on  some  invisible  thread  of  in- 
sane reasoning,  delivered  with  a  mad  vehemence 
and  intensity  that  shook  and  seemed  to  rend  his 
feeble  frame. 

"We  must  stop  him,  we  must  stop  him,"  Mary 
suddenly  whispered.  "He'll  kill  himself  if  he 
goes  on  like  this!" 

"I've  never  been  able  to  stop  him,"  Beaumaroy 
whispered  back.  "Hush!  If  he  hears  us  speak- 
ing he'll  be  furious,  and  carry  on  worse." 

The  old  man's  blue  eyes  fixed  themselves  on 
Beaumaroy — of  Mary  he  took  no  heed.  He 
pointed  at  Beaumaroy  with  his  scepter,  and  from 
him  to  the  gleaming  gold  in  Captain  Duggle's 
grave.  A  streak  of  coherency,  a  strand  of  mad 
logic,  now  ran  through  his  hurtling  words;  the 
money  was  there,  Beaumaroy  was  to  take  it — 
to-day,  to-day! — to  take  it  to  Morocco,  to  raise 

194 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

the  tribes,  to  set  Africa  aflame.  He  was  to 
scatter  it — broadcast,  broadcast!  There  was  no 
end  to  it — don't  spare  it!  "There's  millions, 
millions  of  it!"  he  shouted,  and  achieved  a  weird 
wild  majesty  in  a  final  cry,  "God  with  us!" 

Then  he  fell — tumbled  back  in  utter  collapse 
into  the  recesses  of  the  great  chair.  His  scepter 
fell  from  his  nerveless  hand  and  rolled  down  the 
steps  of  the  dais ;  the  impetus  it  gathered  carried 
it,  rolling  still,  across  the  floor  to  the  edge  of  the 
open  pit;  for  an  instant  it  lay  poised  on  the 
edge,  and  then  fell  with  a  jangle  of  sound  on  the 
carpet  of  golden  coins  that  lined  Captain  Dug- 
gle's  grave. 

"Quick!  Get  my  Hag — I  left  it  in  the  pas- 
sage," whispered  Mary,  as  she  started  forward, 
up  the  dais,  to  the  old  man's  side.  "And  brandy, 
if  you've  got  it,"  she  called  after  Beaumaroy, 
as  he  turned  to  the  door  to  do  her  bidding. 

Beaumaroy  was  gone  no  more  than  a  minute. 
When  he  came  back,  with  the  bag  hitched  under 
his  arm,  a  decanter  of  brandy  in  one  hand  and 
a  glass  in  the  other,  Mary  was  leaning  over  the 

195 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

throne,  with  her  arm  round  the  old  man.  His 
eyes  were  open,  but  he  was  inert  and  motionless. 
Beaumaroy  poured  out  some  brandy,  and  gave 
it  into  Mary's  free  hand.  But  when  Mr.  Saffron 
saw  Beaumaroy  by  his  side,  he  gave  a  sudden 
twist  of  his  body,  wrenched  himself  away  from 
Mary's  arm,  and  flung  himself  on  his  trusted 
friend.  "Hector,  I'm  in  danger!  They're  after 
me!  They'll  shut  me  up!" 

Beaumaroy  put  his  strong  arms  about  the  frail 
old  body.  "Oh  no,  sir,  oh,  no!"  he  said  in  low, 
comforting,  half-bantering  tones.  "That's  the 
old  foolishness,  sir,  if  I  may  so  say.  You're 
perfectly  safe  with  me.  You  ought  to  trust  me 
by  now,  sir,  really  you  ought." 

"You  swear,  you  swear  it's  all  right,  Hector?" 

"Right  as  rain,  sir,"  Beaumaroy  assured  him 
cheerfully. 

Very  feebly  the  old  man  moved  his  right  hand 
towards  the  open  grave.  "Plenty — plenty!  All 
yours,  Hector!  For — for  the  Cause — God's 
with  us !"  His  head  fell  forward  on  Beaumaroy 's 
breast;  for  an  instant  again  he  raised  it,  and 

196 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

looked  in  the  face  of  his  friend.  A  smile  came 
on  his  lips.  "I  know  I  can  trust  you.  I'm  safe 
with  you,  Hector."  His  head  fell  forward 
again;  his  whole  body  was  relaxed;  he  gave  a 
sigh  of  peace.  Beaumaroy  lifted  him  in  his 
arms  and  very  gently  set  him  back  in  his  great 
chair,  placing  his  feet  again  on  the  high  foot- 
stool. 

"I  think  it's  all  over,"  he  said,  and  Mary  saw 
tears  in  his  eyes. 

Then  Mary  herself  collapsed;  she  sank  down 
on  the  dais  and  broke  into  weeping.  It  had  all 
been  so  pitiful,  and  somehow  so  terrible.  Her 
quick  tumultuous  sobbing  sounded  through  the 
place  which  the  vibrations  of  the  old  man's  yoice 
had  lately  filled. 

She  felt  Beaumaroy's  hand  on  her  shoulder. 
"You  must  make  sure,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
"You  must  make  your  examination." 

With  trembling  hands  she  did  it — she  forced 
herself  to  it,  Beaumaroy  aiding  her.  There  was 
no  doubt.  Life  had  left  the  body  which  reason 
had  left  long  before.  His  weakened  heart  had 

197 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

not  endured  the  last  strain  of  mad  excitement. 
The  old  man  was  dead. 

Her  face  showed  Beaumaroy  the  result  of  her 
examination,  if  he  had  ever  doubted  of  it.  She 
looked  at  him,  then  made  a  motion  of  her  hand 

towards  the  body.  "We  must — we  must " 

she  stammered,  the  tears  still  rolling  down  her 
cheeks. 

"Presently,"  he  said.  "There's  plenty  of  time. 
You're  not  fit  to  do  that  now — and  no  more 
am  I,  to  tell  the  truth.  We'll  rest  for  half  an 
hour,  and  then  get  him  upstairs,  and — and  do 
the  rest.  Come  with  me!"  He  put  his  hand 
lightly  within  her  arm.  "He  will  rest  quietly 
on  his  throne  for  a  little  while.  He's  not  afraid 
any  more.  He's  at  rest." 

Still  with  his  arm  in  Mary's,  he  bent  forward 
and  kissed  the  old  man  on  the  forehead.  "I  shall 
miss  you,  old  friend,"  he  said.  Then,  with  gentle 
insistence,  he  led  Mary  away.  They  left  the 
old  man,  propped  up  by  the  high  stool  on  which 
his  feet  rested,  seated  far  back  in  the  great  chair, 
hard  by  Captain  Duggle's  grave,  where  the 

198 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

scepter  lay  on  a  carpet  of  gold.  The  tall  candles 
burnt  on  either  side  of  his  throne,  imparting  a 
far-off  semblance  of  ceremonial  state. 

Thus  died,  unmarried,  in  the  seventy-first  year 
of  his  age,  Aloysius  William  Saffron,  formerly 
of  Exeter,  Surveyor  and  Auctioneer.  He  had 
run,  on  the  whole,  a  creditable  course;  starting 
from  small  beginnings,  and  belonging  to  a 
family  more  remarkable  for  eccentricity  than  for 
any  solid  merit,  he  had  built  up  a  good  prac- 
tice; he  had  made  money  and  put  it  by;  he 
enjoyed  a  good  name  for  financial  probity.  But 
he  was  held  to  be  a  vain,  fussy,  self-important, 
peacocky  fellow;  very  self -centered  also  and  (as 
Beaumaroy  had  indicated)  impatient  of  the 
family  and  social  obligations  which  most  men 
recognize,  even  though  often  unwillingly.  As 
the  years  gathered  upon  his  head,  these  char- 
acteristics were  intensified.  On  the  occasion  of 
some  trifling  set-back  in  business — a  rival  cut 
him  out  in  a  certain  negotiation — he  threw  up 
everything  and  disappeared  from  his  native 
town.  Thenceforward  nothing  was  heard  of  him 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

there,  save  that  he  wrote  occasionally  to  his 
cousin,  Sophia  Jladbolt,  and  her  husband,  both 
of  whom  he  most  cordially  hated,  whose  claims 
to  his  notice,  regard,  or  assistance  he  had,  of  late 
years  at  least,  hotly  resented.  Yet  he  wrote  to 
them — wrote  them  vaunting  and  magniloquent 
letters,  hinting  darkly  of  great  doings  and  great 
richeB.  In  spite  of  their  opinion  of  him,  the 
Radbolts  came  to  believe  perhaps  half  of  what 
he  said;  he  was  old  and  without  other  ties;  their 
thirst  for  his  money  was  greedy.  Undoubtedly 
the  Radbolts  would  dearly  have  loved  to  get  hold 
of  him  and — somehow — hold  him  fast. 

When  he  came  to  Tower  Cottage — it  was  in 
the  first  year  of  the  war — he  was  precariously 
sane ;  it  was  only  gradually  that  his  fundamental 
and  constitutional  vices  and  foibles  turned  to 
a  morbid  growth.  First  came  intensified  hatred 
and  suspicion  of  the  Radbolts — they  were  after 
him  and  his  money!  Then,  through  hidden 
processes  of  mental  distortion,  there  grew  the 
conviction  that  he  was  of  high  importance,  a  great 
man,  the  object  of  great  conspiracies,  in  which 

200 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

the  odious  Radbolts  were  but  instruments.  It 
was,  no  doubt,  the  course  of  public  events,  cul- 
minating in  the  Great  War,  which  gave  to  his 
mania  its  special  turn,  to  his  delusion  its  mon- 
strous (but,  as  Doctor  Mary  was  aware,  by  no 
means  unprecedented)  character.  By  the  time 
of  his  meeting  with  Beaumaroy  the  delusion  was 
complete;  through  all  the  second  half  of  1918 
he  followed — so  far  as  his  mind  could  now  fol- 
low anything  rationally — in  his  own  person  and 
fortunes  the  fate  of  the  man  whom  he  believed 
himself  to  be,  appropriating  the  hopes,  the  fears, 
the  imagined  ambitions,  the  physical  infirmity, 
of  that  self -created  other  self. 

But  he  wrapped  it  all  in  deep  secrecy,  for,  as 
the  conviction  of  his  true  identity  grew  com- 
plete, his  fears  were  multiplied.  Radbolts  in- 
deed! The  whole  of  Christendom — Principali- 
ties and  Powers — were  on  his  track.  They  would 
shut  him  up,  kill  him  perhaps!  Cunningly  he 
hid  his  secret — save  what  could  not  be  entirely 
hidden,  the  physical  deformity.  But  he  hid  it 
with  his  shawl ;  he  never  ate  out  of  his  own  house ; 

201 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

the  combination  knife-and-fork  was  kept  sedu- 
lously hidden.  Only  to  Beaumaroy  did  he 
reveal  the  hidden  thing;  and,  later,  on  Beau- 
maroy's  persuasion,  he  let  into  the  portentous 
secret  one  faithful  servant — Beaumaroy's  un- 
savory retainer,  Sergeant  Hooper. 

He  never  accepted  Hooper  as  more  than  a 
distasteful  necessity — somebody  must  wait  on 
him  and  do  him  menial  service ;  he  was  not  feared, 
indeed,  for  surely  such  a  dog  would  not  dare 
to  be  false,  but  cordially  disliked.  Beaumaroy 
won  him  from  the  beginning.  Whom  he  con- 
ceived him  to  be  Beaumaroy  himself  never  knew, 
but  he  opened  his  heart  to  him  unreservedly. 
Of  him  he  had  no  suspicion;  to  him  he  looked 
for  safety  and  for  the  realization  of  his  cher- 
ished dreams.  Beaumaroy  soothed  his  terrors 
and  humored  him  in  all  things — what  was  the 
good  of  doing  anything  else,  asked  Beaumaroy's 
philosophy.  He  loved  Beaumaroy  far  more  than 
he  had  loved  anybody  except  himself  in  all  his 
life.  At  the  end,  through  the  wild  tangle  of 
mad  imaginings,  there  ran  this  golden  thread  of 

202 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

human  affection;  it  gave  the  old  man  hours  of 
peace,  sometimes  almost  of  sanity. 

So  he  came  to  his  death,  directly  indeed  of  a 
long-standing  organic  disease,  yet  veritably  self- 
destroyed.  And  so  he  sat  now,  dead  amidst  his 
shabby  parody  of  splendor.  He  had  done  with 
thrones;  he  had  even  done  with  Tower  Cottage 
— unless  indeed  his  pale  shade  were  to  hold 
nocturnal  converse  with  the  robust  and  flam- 
boyant ghost  of  Captain  Duggle ;  the  one  vaunt- 
ing his  unreal  vanished  greatness,  mouthing 
orations  and  mimicking  pomp ;  the  other  telling, 
in  language  garnished  with  strange  and  horrible 
oaths,  of  those  dark  and  lurid  terrors  which  once 
had  driven  him  from  this  very  place,  leaving  it 
ablaze  behind.  A  strange  couple  they  would 
make,  and  strange  would  be  their  conversation! 

Yet  the  tenement  which  had  housed  the  old 
man's  deranged  spirit,  empty  as  now  it  was — 
aye,  emptier  than  Duggle's  tomb — was  still  to 
be  witness  of  one  more  earthly  scene  and  unwit- 
tingly bear  part  in  it. 


203 


CHAPTER  XIII 

RIGHT  OF  CONQUEST 

WHAT  has  been  related  of  Mr.  Saffron's  life 
before  he  ascended  the  throne  on  which  he  still 
sat  in  the  Tower  represented  all  that  Beaumaroy 
knew  of  his  old  friend  before  they  met — indeed 
he  knew  scarcely  as  much.  He  told  the  brief 
story  to  Doctor  Mary  in  the  parlor.  She  heard 
him  listlessly ;  all  that  was  not  much  to  the  point 
on  which  her  thoughts  were  set,  and  did  not 
answer  the  riddle  which  the  scene  in  the  Tower 
put  to  her.  She  was  calm  now — and  ashamed 
that  she  had  ever  lost  her  calmness. 

"Well,  there  was  the  situation  as  I  under- 
stood it  when  I  took  on  the  job — or  quite  soon 
afterwards.  He  thought  that  he  was  being  pur- 
sued; in  a  sense  he  was.  If  these  Radbolts  found 
out  the  truth,  they  certainly  would  pursue  him, 
try  to  shut  him  up,  and  prevent  him  from  mak- 

204 


RIGHT  OF  CONQUEST 


ing  away  with  his  money  or  leaving  it  to  anybody 
else.  I  didn't  at  all  know  at  first  what  a  tidy 
lot  he  had.  He  hated  the  Radbolts;  even  after 
he  ceased  to  know  them  as  cousins,  he  remained 
very  conscious  of  them  always;  they  were  ene- 
mies, spies,  secret  service  people  on  his  track — 
poor  old  boy!  Well,  why  should  they  have  him 
and  his  money?  I  didn't  see  it.  I  don't  see  it 
to  this  day." 

Mary  was  in  Mr.  Saffron's  armchair.  Beau- 
maroy  stood  before  the  fire.  She  looked  up  at 
him. 

"They  seem  to  have  more  right  than  anybody 
else.  And  you  know — you  knew — that  he  was 
mad." 

"His  being  mad  gives  them  no  right!  Oh, 
well,  it's  no  use  arguing.  In  the  end  I  suppose 
they  had  rights — of  a  kind;  a  right  by  law,  I 
suppose — though  I  never  knew  the  law  and  don't 
want  to — to  shut  the  old  man  up,  and  make  him 
damned  miserable,  and  get  the  money  for  them- 
selves. That  sounds  just  the  sort  of  right  the 
law  does  give  people  over  other  people — because 

205 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

Aunt  Betsy  married  Uncle  John  fifty  years  ago, 
and  was  probably  infernally  sorry  for  it!" 

Mary  smiled.  "A  matter  of  principle  with 
you,  was  it,  Mr.  Beaumaroy?" 

"No — instinct,  I  think.  It's  my  instinct  to  be 
against  the  proper  thing,  the  regular  thing,  the 
thing  that  deals  hardly  with  an  individual  in  the 
name  of  some  highly  nebulous  general  principle." 

"Like  discipline?"  she  put  in,  with  a  reminis- 
cence of  Major-General  Punnit. 

He  nodded.  "Yes,  that's  one  case  of  it.  And 
then,  the  situation  amused  me.  I  think  that  had 
more  to  do  with  it  than  anything  else  at  first. 
It  amused  me  to  play  up  to  his  delusions.  I 
suggested  the  shawl  as  useful  on  our  walks — and 
thereby  got  him  to  take  wholesome  exercise ;  that 
ought  to  appeal  to  you,  Doctor!  I  got  him  the 
combination  knife-and-fork;  that  made  him  en- 
joy his  *neals — also  good  for  him,  Doctor!  But 
I  didn't  do  these  things  because  they  were  good 
for  him,  but  because  they  imused  me.  They 
never  amused  Hooper,  he's  a  dull,  surly,  and — > 
I'm  inclined  to  believe — treacherous  dog." 

206 


RIGHT  OF  CONQUEST 


"Who  is  he?" 

"Sacked  from  the  Army — sent  to  quod.  Just 
a  jail-bird  whom  I've  kept  loose.  But  the  things 
did  amuse  me,  and  it  was  that  at  first.  But 
then "  he  paused. 

Looking  at  him  again,  Mary  saw  a  whimsical 
tenderness  expressed  in  his  eyes  and  smile. 
"The  poor  chap  was  so  overwhelmingly  grateful. 
He  thought  me  the  one  indubitably  faithful  ad- 
herent that  he  had.  And  so  I  was  too — though 
not  in  the  way  he  thought.  And  he  trusted  me 
absolutely.  Well,  was  I  to  give  him  up — to  the 
law,  and  the  Radbolts,  and  the  jailers  of  an 
asylum — a  man  who  trusted  me  like  that?" 

"But  he  was  mad,"  objected  Doctor  Mary 
obstinately. 

"A  man  has  his  feelings,  or  may  have,  even 
when  he's  mad.  He  trusted  me  and  he  loved 
me,  Doctor  Mary.  Won't  you  allow  that  I've 
my  case — so  far?"  She  made  no  sign  of  assent. 
"Well  then,  I  loved  him — does  that  go  any  better 
with  you?  If  it  doesn't,  I'm  in  a  bad  way;  be- 

207 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

cause  what  I'm  giving  you  now  is  the  strong 
part  of  my  case." 

"I  don't  see  why  you  should  put  what  you  call 
your  case  to  me  at  all,  Mr.  Beaumaroy." 

He  looked  at  her  in  a  reproachful  astonish- 
ment. "But  you  seemed  touched  by — by  what 
we  saw  in  the  Tower.  I  thought  the  old  man's 
death  and  faith  had  appealed  to  you.  It  seems 
to  me  that  people  can't  go  through  a  thing  like 
that  together  without  feeling — well,  some  sort 
of  comradeship.  But  if  youVe  no  sort  of  feeling 
of  that  kind — well,  I  don't  want  to  put  my 
case." 

"Go  on  with  your  case,"  said  Doctor  Mary, 
after  a  moment's  silence. 

"Though  it  isn't  really  that  I  want  to  put  a 
case  for  myself  at  all.  But  I  don't  mind  owning 
that  I'd  like  you  to  understand  about  it — before 
I  clear  out." 

She  looked  at  him  questioningly,  but  put  no 
spoken  question.  Beaumaroy  sat  down  on  the 
stool  opposite  to  her,  and  poked  the  fire. 

"I  can't  get  away  from  it,  can  I?  There  was 
208 


RIGHT  OF  CONQUEST 


something  else  you  saw  in  the  Tower,  wasn't 
there,  and  I  dare  say  that  you  connect  it  with 
a  conversation  that  we  had  together  a  little  while 
ago?  Well,  I'll  tell  you  about  that.  Oh,  well, 
of  course  I  must,  mustn't  I?" 

"I  should  like  to  hear."     Her  bitterness  was 
gone;  he  had  come  now  to  the  riddle. 

"He  was  a  King  to  himself,"  Beaumaroy  re- 
sumed thoughtfully,  "but  in  fact  I  was  king 
over  him.  I  could  do  anything  I  liked  with  him 
I  had  him.  I  possessed  him — by  right  of  con- 
quest. The  right  of  conquest  seemed  a  big  thing 
to  me;  it  was  about  the  only  sort  of  right  that 
I'd  seen  anything  of  for  three  years  and  more. 
,Yes,  it  was — and  is — a  big  thing,  a  real  thing — the 
one  right  in  the  whole  world  that  there's  no  doubt 
about.  Other  rights  are  theories,  views,  preach- 
ments !  Right  of  conquest  is  a  fact.  I  had  it.  I 
could  make  him  do  what  I  liked,  say  what  I  liked, 
sign  what  I  liked.  Do  you  begin  to  see  where  I 
found  myself?  I  say  found  myself,  because 
really  it  was  a  surprise  to  me.  At  first  I  thought 
he  was  in  a  pretty  small  way — he  only  gave  me 

209 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

a  hundred  a  year  besides  my  keep.  True,  he  al- 
ways talked  of  his  money,  but  I  set  that  down 
mainly  to  his  delusion.  But  it  was  true  that  he 
had  a  lot — really  a  lot.  A  good  bit  besides  what 
you  saw  in  there;  he  must  have  speculated 
cleverly,  I  think,  he  couldn't  have  made  it  all  in 
his  business.  Doctor  Mary,  how  much  gold  do 
you  think  there  is  in  the  grave  in  there?" 

"I  haven't  the  least  idea.  Thousands?  Where 
did  you  get  it?" 

"Oh  yes,  thousands — and  thousands.  We  got 
it  mostly  from  the  aliens  in  the  East  End ;  they'd 
hoarded  it,  you  know;  but  they  were  willing  to 
sell  at  a  premium.  The  premium  rose  up  to 
last  month;  then  it  dropped  a  little — not  much, 
though,  because  we'd  exhausted  some  ef  the  most 
obvious  sources.  I  carried  every  sovereign  of 
that  money  in  the  grave  down  from  London  in 
my  brown  bag."  He  smiled  reflectively.  "Do 
you  know  how  much  a  thousand  sovereigns  weigh, 
Doctor  Mary?" 

"I  haven't  the  least  idea,"  said  Mary  again. 
She  was  leaning  forward  now,  listening  intently, 

210 


RIGHT  OF  CONQUEST 


and  watching  Beaumaroy's  face  with  absorbed 
interest. 

"Seventeen  and  three-quarter  pounds  avoirdu- 
pois— that's  the  correct  weight.  The  first  time 
or  two  we  didn't  get  much — they  were  still  shy 
of  us.  But  after  that  we  made  some  heavy 
hauls.  Twice  we  brought  down  close  on  two 
thousand.  Once  there  was  three  thousand,  al- 
most to  a  sovereign.  Even  men  trained  to  the 
work — bullion  porters,  as  they  call  them  at  the 
Bank  of  England — reckon  five  bags  of  a  thou- 
sand, canvas  bags  not  much  short  of  a  foot  long 
and  six  inches  across,  you  know — they  reckon 
five  of  them  a  full  load — and  wouldn't  care  to 
go  far  with  them  either.  The  equivalent  of 
three  of  them  was  quite  enough  for  me  to  carry 
from  Inkston  station  up  to  the  Cottage — trying 
to  look  as  if  I  were  carrying  nothing  of  any 
account!  One  hasn't  got  tc  pretend  to  be  carry- 
ing nothing  in  full  marching  kit — nor  to  carry 
it  all  in  one  hand.  And  he'd  never  trust  himself 
in  a  cab — might  be  kidnapped,  you  see !  I  don't 
know  exactly,  but  from  what  he  said  I  reckon 

211 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

we've  brought  down,  on  our  Wednesday  trips, 
about  two-thirds  of  all  he  had.  Now  you've 
probably  gathered  what  his  idea  was.  He  knew 
he  was  disguised  as  Saffron — and  very  proud  of 
the  way  he  lived  up  to  the  character.  As  Saf- 
fron, he  realized  the  money  by  driblets — turned 
his  securities  into  notes,  his  notes  into  gold.  But 
he'd  lost  all  knowledge  that  the  money  was  his 
own — made  by  himself — himself  Saffron.  He 
thought  it  was  saved  out  of  the  wreck  of  his 
Imperial  fortune.  It  was  to  be  dedicated  to 
restoring  the  Imperial  cause.  He  himself  could 
not  attempt,  at  present,  to  get  out  of  England, 
least  of  all  carrying  pots  of  gold  coin.  But  he 
believed  that  I  could.  I  was  to  go  to  Morocco 
and  so  on,  and  raise  the  country  for  him,  taking 
as  much  as  I  could,  and  coming  back  for  more! 
He  had  no  doubt  at  all  of  my  coming  back !  In 
fact  it  wouldn't  have  been  much  easier  for  me 
to  get  out  of  the  country  with  the  money  than 
it  would  have  been  for  the  authentic  Kaiser  him- 
self. But,  Doctor  Mary,  what  would  have  been 
possible  was  for  me  to  go  somewhere  else,  or 

212 


RIGHT  OF  CONQUEST 


even  back  to  the  places  we  knew  of,  for  no 
questions  were  asked  there — put  that  money  back 
into  notes,  or  securities  in  my  own  name,  and 
tell  him  I  had  carried  out  the  Morocco  pro- 
gramme. He  had  no  sense  of  time,  he  would 
have  suspected  nothing." 

"That  would  have  been  mere  and  sheer  rob- 
bery," said  Mary. 

"Oh  yes,  it  would,"  Beaumaroy  agreed. 
"And,  if  I'd  done  it,  and  deserted  him,  I  should 
have  deserved  to  be  hanged.  That  was  hardly 
my  question.  As  long  as  he  lived,  I  meant 
to  stick  by  him;  but  he  was  turned  seventy, 
frail,  with  heart-disease,  and,  as  I  understand, 
quite  likely  to  sink  into  general  paralysis.  Well, 
if  I  was  to  exercise  my  right  of  conquest  and 
get  the  fruits  of  conquest,  two  ways  seemed  open. 
There  could  be  a  will ;  you'll  remember  my  con- 
sulting you  on  that  point  and  your  reply?" 

"Did  he  make  a  will?"  asked  Mary  quickly. 

"No.  A  will  was  open  to  serious  objections. 
Even  supposing  your  evidence — which,  of  course, 
I  wanted  in  case  of  need — had  been  satisfactory, 

213 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

a  fight  with  the  Radbolts  would  have  been  un- 
pleasant. Worse  than  that — as  long  as  I  lived 
I  should  have  been  blackmailed  by  Sergeant 
Hooper,  who  knew  Mr.  Saffron's  condition, 
though  he  didn't  know  about  the  money  here. 
Even  before  you  found  out  about  my  poor  old 
friend,  I  had  decided  against  a  will — though, 
perhaps,  I  might  have  squared  the  Radbolts  by 
just  taking  this  little  place — and  its  contents— 
and  letting  them  take  the  rest.  That  too  be- 
came impossible  after  your  discovery.  There 
remained  then,  the  money  in  the  Tower.  I  could 
make  quite  sure  of  that,  wait  for  his  death,  and 
then  enjoy  it.  And,  upon  my  word,  why  shouldn't 
I  ?  He'd  have  been  much  gratified  by  my  going 
to  Morocco;  and  he'd  certainly  much  sooner  that 
I  had  the  money — if  it  couldn't  go  to  Morocco — 
than  that  the  Radbolts  should  get  it.  That  was 
the  way  the  question  presented  itself  to  me;  and 
I'm  a  poor  man,  with  no  obvious  career  before 
me.  The  right  of  conquest  appealed  to  .me 
strongly,  Doctor  Mary." 

"I  can  see  that  you  may  have  been  greatly 
214 


RIGHT  OF  CONQUEST 


tempted,"  said  Mary  in  a  grave  and  troubled 
voice.  "And  the  circumstances  did  enable  you 
to  make  excuses  for  what  you  thought  of  doing." 

"Excuses?  You  won't  even  go  so  far  as  to 
call  it  a  doubtful  case?  One  that  a  casuist  could 
argue  either  way?"  Beaumaroy  was  smiling 
again  now. 

"Even  if  I  did,  men  of " 

"Yes,  Doctor  Mary — of  sensitive  honor!" 

"Decide  doubtful  cases  against  themselves  in 
money  matters." 

"Oh,  I  say,  is  that  doctrine  current  in  busi- 
ness circles?  I've  been  in  business  myself,  and 
I  doubt  it." 

"They  do — men  of  real  honor,"  Mary  per- 
sisted. 

"So  that's  how  great  fortunes  are  made? 
That's  how  individuals — to  say  nothing  of  na- 
tions— rise  to  wealth  and  power!  And  I  never 
knew  it,"  Beaumaroy  reflected  in  a  gentle  voice. 
His  eye  caught  Mary's,  and  she  gave  a  little 
laugh.  "By  deciding  doubtful  cases  against 
themselves!  Dear  me,  yes!" 

215 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

"I  didn't  say  they  rose  to  greatness  and 
power." 

"Then  the  people  who  do  rise  to  greatness  and 
power — and  the  nations — don't  they  go  by  right 
of  conquest,  Doctor  Mary?  Don't  they  decide 
cases  in  their  own  favor?" 

"Did  you  really  mean  to — to  take  the  money?" 

"I'll  tell  you  as  near  as  I  can.  I  meant  to  do 
my  best  for  my  old  man.  I  meant  him  to  live 
as  long  as  he  could,  and  to  live  free,  unperse- 
cuted,  as>  happy  as  he  could  be  made.  I  meant 
that,  because  I  loved  him,  and  he  loved  me. 
Well,  I've  lost  him;  I'm  alone  in  the  world." 
The  last  words  were  no  appeal  to  Mary;  for 
the  moment  he  seemed  to  have  forgotten  her; 
he  was  speaking  out  of  his  own  heart  to  himself. 
Yet  the  words  thereby  touched  her  to  a  livelier 
pity;  you  are  very  lonely  when  there  is  nobody 
to  whom  you  have  affection's  right  to  complain 
oi  loneliness. 

"But  after  that,  if  I  savv  him  to  his  end  in 
peace,  if  I  brought  that  off,  well,  then  I  rather 

216 


RIGHT  OF  CONQUEST 


think  that  I  should  have  stuck  to  the  money. 
Yes,  I  rather  think  so." 

"You've  managed  to  mix  things  up  so !"  Mary 
complained.  "Your  devotion  to  Mr.  Saffron — 
for  that  I  could  forgive  you  keeping  his  secret, 
and  fooling  me,  and  all  of  us.  But  then  you 
mix  that  up  with  the  money!" 

"It  was  mixed  up  with  it.  I  didn't  do  the 
mixing." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  now?"  she  asked 
with  a  sudden  curiosity. 

"Oh,  now?  Now  the  thing's  all  different. 
You've  seen,  you  know,  and  even  I  can't  offer 
you  a  partnership  in  the  cash,  can  I?  If  I 
weren't  an  infernally  poor  conspirator,  I  should 
have  covered  up  the  Captain's  grave,  and  made 
everything  neat  and  tidy  before  I  came  to  fetch 
you,  because  I  knew  he  might  go  back  to  the 
Tower.  On  his  bad  nights  he  always  made  me 
open  the  grave,  and  spread  out  the  money,  make 
a  show  of  it,  you  know.  Then  it  had  to  be  put 
back  in  bags — the  money  bags  lived  in  the  brown 
leather  bag — and  the  grave  had  to  be  fastened 

217 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

down.  Altogether  it  was  a  good  bit  of  work. 
I'd  just  got  it  open,  and  the  money  spread  out, 
when  he  turned  bad — a  sort  of  collapse  like  the 
one  you  saw;  and  I  was  so  busy  getting  him  to 
bed  that  I  forgot  the  cursed  grave  and  the  money 
— just  as  I  forgot  to  put  away  the  knife-and- 
fork  before  you  called  the  first  time,  and  you 
saw  through  me!" 

"If  you're  not  a  good  conspirator,  it's  another 
reason  for  not  conspiring,  Mr.  Beaumaroy.  I 
know  you  conspired  for  him  first  of  all,  but " 

"Well,  he's  safe,  he's  at  peace.  It  can  all 
come  out  now,  and  it  must.  You  know,  and 
you  must  tell  the  truth.  I  don't  know  whether 
they  can  put  me  in  prison.  I  should  hardly 
think  they'd  bother,  if  they  get  the  mone^  all 
right.  In  any  case  I  don't  care  much.  Lord, 
what  a  lot  of  people'll  say  'I  told  you  so — bad 
egg,  that  Beaumaroy!'  No,  I  don't  care.  My 
old  man's  safe;  I've  won  my  big  game  after  all, 
Doctor  Mary!" 

"1  don't  believe  you  cared  about  the  money 
really!"  she  cried.  "That  really  was  a  game 

218 


RIGHT  OF  CONQUEST 


to  you,  I  think,  a  trick  you  liked  to  play  on 
us  respectables!" 

He  smiled  at  her  confidentially.  "I  do  like 
beating  the  respectables,"  he  admitted.  Then 
he  looked  at  his  watch.  "I  must  do  what  has 
to  be  done  for  the  old  man.  But  it's  late — hard 
on  one  o'clock.  You  must  be  tired — and  it's  a 
sad  job." 

"No,  I'll  help  you.  I — I've  been  in  hospitals, 
you  know.  Only  do  go  first,  and  cover  up  that 
horrible  place,  and  hide  that  wretched  money 
before  I  go  into  the  Tower.  Will  you?"  She 
gave  a  shiver,  as  her  imagination  renewed  the 
scene  which  the  Tower  held. 

"You  needn't  come  into  the  Tower  at  all. 
He's  as  light  as  a  feather — I've  lifted  him  into 
bed  often.  I  can  lift  him  now.  If  you  really 
wish  to  help,  will  you  go  up  to  his  room,  and 
get  things  ready?"  As  he  spoke,  he  crossed 
to  the  sideboard,  took  up  a  bedroom  candlestick, 
and  lighted  it  from  one  that  stood  on  the  table. 
"And  you'll  see  about  the  body  being  taken  to 
the  mortuary,  won't  you?  I  shall  communicate 

219 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

with  the  Radbolts — fully;  they'll  take  charge  of 
the  funeral,  I  suppose.  Well,  he  won't  know 
anything  about  that  now,  thank  God!"  There 
was  the  slightest  tremor  in  his  voice  as  he  spoke. 

Mary  did  not  take  the  candle.  "I've  said  some 
hard  things  to  you,  Mr.  Beaumaroy.  I  dare 
say  I've  sounded  very  self-righteous."  He  raised 
his  hand  in  protest,  but  she  went  on:  "So  I 
should  like  to  say  one  different  thing  to  you, 
since  we're  to  part  after  to-night.  You've  shown 
yourself  a  good  friend,  good  and  true  as  a  man 
could  have." 

"I  loved  my  old  man,"  said  Beaumaroy. 

It  was  his  only  plea.  To  Mary  it  seemed  a 
good  one.  He  had  loved  his  poor  old  madman; 
and  he  had  served  him  faithfully.  "Yes,  the  old 
man  found  a  good  friend  in  you;  I  hope  you 
will  find  good  friends  too.  Oh,  I  do  hope  it! 
Because  that's  what  you  want." 

"I  should  5e  very  glad  if  I  could  think  that, 
in  spite  of  everything,  I  had  found  one  here  in 
this  place — even  although  she  can  be  a  friend 
only  in  memory." 

220 


RIGHT  OF  CONQUEST 


Mary  paused  for  a  moment,  then  gave  him 
her  hand.  "I  know  you  much  better  after  to- 
night. My  memory  of  you  will  be  a  kind  one. 
Now  to  our  work !" 

"Yes — and  thank  you.  I  thank  you  more 
deeply  than  you  imagine." 

He  gave  her  the  candle  and  followed  her  to 
the  passage. 

"You  know  where  the  room  is.  I  shall  put 
the — the  place — straight,  and  then  bring  him  up. 
'I  sha'n't  be  many  minutes — ten,  perhaps.  The 
cover's  rather  hard  to  fit." 

Mary  nodded  from  the  top  of  the  stairs. 
Strained  by  the  events  of  the  night,  and  by  the 
talk  to  Beaumaroy,  she  was  again  near  tears; 
her  eyes  were  bright  in  the  light  of  the  candle, 
and  told  of  nervous  excitement.  Beaumaroy 
went  back  into  the  parlor,  on  his  way  to  the 
Tower.  Suddenly  he  stopped  and  stood  dead 
still,  listening  intently. 

Mary  busied  herself  upstairs,  making  her 
preparations  with  practiced  skill  and  readiness. 
Her  agitation  did  not  interfere  with  her  work 

221 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

— there  her  training  told — but  of  her  inner  mind 
it  had  full  possession.  She  was  afraid  to  be 
alone — there  in  that  cottage.  She  longed  for 
another  clasp  of  that  friendly  hand.  Well,  he 
would  come  soon;  but  he  must  bring  his  burden 
with  him.  When  she  had  finished  what  she  had 
to  do,  she  sat  down,  and  waited. 

Beaumaroy  waited  too,  outside  the  door  lead- 
ing to  the  Tower. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  SCEPTER  IN  THE  GRAVE 

SERGEANT  HOOPER  took  up  his  appointed  posi- 
tion on  the  flagged  path  that  led  up  to  the 
cottage  door.  His  primary  task  was  to  give 
warning  if  anybody  should  come  out  of  the  door ; 
a  secondary  one  was  to  give  the  alarm  in  case 
of  interruption  hy  passers-by  on  the  road — an 
unlikely  peril  this  latter,  in  view  of  the  hour, 
the  darkness  of  the  night,  and  the  practiced 
noiselessness  with  which  Mike  might  be  relied 
upon  to  do  his  work.  Here  then  the  Sergeant 
was  left,  after  being  accorded  another  nip  from 
the  flask — which,  however,  Neddy  kept  in  his  own 
hands  this  time — and  a  whispered  but  vigorously 
worded  exhortation  to  keep  up  his  courage. 

Neddy,  the  Shover,  and  gentlemanly  Mike 
tiptoed  off  to  the  window,  on  the  right  hand 
side  of  the  door  as  one  approached  the  house 

223 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

from  the  road.  The  bottom  of  the  window 
was  about  seven  feet  from  the  ground.  Neddy 
bent  down  and  offered  his  broad  back  as  a 
platform  to  his  companion.  Mike  mounted 
thereon  and  began  his  work.  That,  in  itself, 
was  child's  play  to  him;  the  matchboarding  was 
but  lightly  nailed  on;  the  fastenings  came  away 
in  a  moment  under  the  skillful  application  of 
his  instrument;  the  window  sash  behind  was  not 
even  bolted,  for  the  bolt  had  perished  with  time 
and  had  not  been  replaced.  So  far,  very  good! 
But  at  this  early  point  Mike  received  his  first 
surprise.  He  could  not  see  much  of  the  in- 
terior; a  tall  curtain  stretched  across  the  entire 
breadth  of  the  window,  distant  about  two  feet 
from  it;  but  he  could  see  that  the  room  was 
lighted  up. 

Very  cautiously  he  completed  his  work  on  the 
matchboarding,  handing  down  each  plank  to 
Neddy  when  he  had  detached  it.  Then  he  cut 
out  a  pane  of  glass — it  was  all  A.B.C.  to  him — 
put  his  hand  in  and  raised  the  sash  a  little;  then 
it  was  simple  to  push  it  up  from  below.  But 

224 


THE  SCEPTER  IN  THE  GRAVE 

the  sash  had  not  been  raised  for  years;  it  stuck; 
when  it  yielded  to  his  efforts,  it  gave  a  loud 
creak.  He  flung  one  leg  over  the  window-sill 
and  sat  poised  there,  listening.  The  room  was 
lighted  up;  but  if  there  were  anyone  in  it,  he 
must  be  asleep,  or  very  hard  of  hearing,  or  that 
creak  would  have  aroused  his  attention. 

Released  from  his  office  as  a  support,  Neddy 
rose,  and  hauled  himself  up  by  his  arms  till  he 
could  see  in  the  window.  "Lights!"  he  whis- 
pered. Mike  nodded  and  got  in — on  the  dais, 
behind  the  curtain.  Neddy  scrambled  up  after 
him,  finding  some  help  from  a  stunted  but  sturdy 
old  apple  tree  that  grew  against  the  wall.  Now 
they  were  both  inside,  behind  the  tall  curtain. 

"Come  on,"  Mike  whispered.  "We  must  see 
if  there's  anybody  here,  and,  if  there  isn't,  put 
out  the  light."  For  on  either  side  of  the  curtain 
there  was  room  for  a  streak  of  light  which  might 
by  chance  be  seen  from  the  road. 

Mike  advanced  round  the  left-side  edge  of 
the  curtain;  he  had  perceived  by  now  that  it 
formed  the  back  of  some  structure,  though  he 

225 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

could  not  yet  see  of  what  nature  the  structure 
was;  nor  was  he  now  examining.  For  as  he 
stepped  out  on  the  dais  at  the  side  of  the  canopy, 
his  eyes  were  engrossed  by  another  feature  of 
this  strange  apartment.  He  stretched  back  his 
hand  and  caught  hold  of  Neddy's  brawny  arm, 
pulling  him  forward.  "See  that — that  hole, 
Neddy?" 

For  the  moment  they  forgot  the  lights;  they 
forgot  the  possibility  of  an  occupant  of  the  room 
— which  indeed  was,  save  for  their  own  whispers, 
absolutely  still ;  they  stood  looking  at  the  strange 
hole,  and  then  into  one  another's  faces,  for  a 
few  seconds.  Then  they  stole  softly  nearer  to 
it.  "That's  a  blasted  funny  'ole!"  breathed 
Neddy.  "Look's  like  a  bloke's " 

Mike's  fingers  squeezed  his  arm  tighter,  evi- 
dently again  claiming  his  attention.  "My  hat, 
we  needn't  look  far  for  the  stuff!"  he  whispered. 
An  uneasy  whisper  it  was;  the  whole  place 
looked  queer,  and  that  hole  was  uncanny — it  had 
its  contents. 

Yet  they  approached  nearer;  they  came  to  the 

226 


THE  SCEPTER  IN  THE  GRAVE 

edge  and  stood  looking  in.  As  though  he  could 
not  believe  the  mere  sight  of  his  eyes,  big  Neddy 
crouched  down,  reached  out  his  hand,  and  took 
up  Mr.  Saffron's  scepter.  With  a  look  of  half- 
scared  amazement  he  held  it  up  for  his  com- 
panion's inspection.  Mike  eyed  it  uneasily,  but 
his  thoughts  were  getting  back  to  business.  He 
stole  softly  off  to  the  door,  with  intent  to  see 
whether  it  was  locked;  he  stooped  down  to  ex- 
amine it  and  perceived  that  it  was  not.  It  would 
be  well,  then,  to  barricade  it,  and  he  turned 
round  to  look  for  some  heavy  bit  of  furniture 
suitable  for  his  purpose,  something  that  would 
delay  the  entrance  of  an  intruder  and  give  them 
notice  of  the  interruption. 

As  he  turned,  his  body  suddenly  stiffened; 
only  his  trained  instinct  prevented  him  from 
crying  out.  There  was  an  occupant  of  the  room 
— there,  in  the  great  chair  between  the  tall 
candlesticks  on  the  dais.  An  old  man  sat — half 
lay — there;  asleep,  it  seemed;  his  eyes  were  shut. 
The  color  of  his  face  struck  Gentleman  Mike  as 
being  peculiar.  But  everything  in  that  place  was 

227 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

peculiar;  like  a  great  tomb — &  blooming  mauso- 
leum— the  whole  place  was.  Though  he  had  the 
reputation  of  being  an  esprit  fort,  Mike  felt 
uncomfortable.  Cold  and  clammy  too,  the 
beastly  place  was! 

Still — business  is  business.  Letting  the  mat- 
ter of  the  unlocked  door  wait  for  the  moment, 
he  began  to  steal  catlike  across  the  floor  towards 
the  dais.  He  had  to  investigate;  also  he  really 
ought  to  put  out  those  candles;  it  was  utterly 
unprofessional  to  leave  them  alight.  But  he 
could  not  conquer  a  feeling  that  the  place  would 
seem  still  more  peculiar  when  they  were  put  out. 

Big  Neddy's  eyes  had  not  followed  his  com- 
rade to  the  door;  they  had  been  held  by  the 
queer  hole  and  its  queer  contents — by  the  gleam- 
ing gold  that  strewed  its  floor,  by  the  mock  sym- 
bol of  majesty  which  he  had  lifted  from  it  and 
still  held  in  his  hand,  by  the  oddly  suggestive 
shape  and  dimensions  of  the  hole  itself.  But 
now  he  raised  his  eyes  from  these  things  and 
looked  across  at  Mike,  mutely  asking  what  he 
thought  of  matters.  He  saw  Mike  stealing 

228 


THE  SCEPTER  IN  THE  GRAVE 

across  the  floor,  looking  very,  very  hard  at — 
something. 

Mute  as  Neddy's  inquiry  was,  Mike  seemed 
somehow  aware  of  it.  He  raised  his  hand,  as 
though  to  enjoin  silence,  and  then  pointed  it  in 
front  of  him,  raised  to  the  level  of  his  head. 
Neddy  turned  round  to  look  in  the  direction  in- 
dicated. He  saw  the  throne  and  its  silent  oc- 
cupant— the  waxen-faced  old  man  who  sat  there, 
seeming  to  preside  over  the  scene,  whose  head 
was  turned  towards  him,  whose  closed  eyes 
would  open  directly  on  his  face  if  their  lids  were 
lifted. 

Neddy  feared  no  living  man;  so  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  boast,  and  with  good  warrant.  But 
was  that  man  living?  How  came  he  up  there? 
And  what  had  he  to  do  with  the  queer-shaped 
hole  that  had  all  that  gold  in  it?  And  the  thing 
he  held  in  his  own  hand?  Did  that  belong  to 
the  old  man  up  there?  Had  he  flung  it  into  the 
hole?  Or  (odd  fancies  began  to  assail  big 
Neddy)  had  he  left  it  behind  him  when  he  got 

229 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

out?  And  would  he,  by  chance,  come  down  to 
look  for  it? 

Mike's  hand,  stretched  out  from  his  body  to- 
wards his  friend,  now  again  enjoined  silence. 
He  was  at  the  foot  of  the  dais;  he  was  going 
up  its  steps.  He  was  no  good  in  a  scrap,  but 
he  had  a  nerve  in  some  things!  He  was  up  the 
steps  now,  and  leaning  forward;  he  was  looking 
hard  in  the  old  man's  face;  his  own  was  close 
to  it.  He  laid  hold  of  one  of  the  old  man's  arms, 
it  happened  to  be  that  left  arm  of  Mr.  Saffron's, 
lifted  it,  and  let  it  fall  again;  it  fell  back  just 
in  the  position  from  which  he  had  lifted  it.  Then 
he  straightened  himself  up,  looking  a  trifle  green 
perhaps,  but  reassured,  and  called  out  to  Mike, 
in  a  penetrating  whisper,  "He's  a  stiff  un  all 
right!" 

Yes!  But  then,  what  of  the  grave?  Because 
it  was  a  grave  and  nothing  else;  there  was  no 
getting  away  from  it.  What  of  the  grave,  and 
what  about  the  scepter? 

And  what  was  Mike  going  to  do  now?  He 
was  tiptoeing  to  the  edge  of  the  dais.  He  was 

230 


THE  SCEPTER  IN  THE  GRAVE 

moving  towards  one  of  the  high  candlesticks,  the 
top  of  which  was  a  little  below  the  level  of  his 
head,  as  he  stood  raised  on  the  dais  beside  the 
throne.  He  leant  forward  towards  the  candles; 
his  intent  was  obvious. 

But  big  Neddy  was  not  minded  that  he  should 
carry  it  out,  could  not  suffer  him  to  do  it.  With 
the  light  of  the  candles — well,  at  all  events  you 
could  see  what  was  happening;  you  could  see 
where  you  were,  and  where  anybody  else  was. 
But  in  the  dark — left  to  torches  which  illumi- 
nated only  bits  of  the  place,  and  which  perhaps 
you  mightn't  switch  on  in  time  or  turn  in  the 
right  direction;  if  you  were  left  like  that,  any- 
body might  be  anywhere,  and  on  to  you  before 
you  knew  it ! 

"Let  them  lights  alone,  Mike!"  he  whispered 
hoarsely.  "I'll  smash  your  'ead  in  if  you  put 
them  lights  out!" 

Mike  had  conquered  his  own  fit  of  nerves,  not 
without  some  exercise  of  will,  and  had  not  given 
any  notice  to  his  companion's,  which  was  con- 
siderably more  acute;  perhaps  the  constant  use 

231 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

of  that  roomy  flask  had  contributed  to  that, 
though  lack  of  a  liberal  education  (such  as  Mike 
had  enjoyed  and  misused)  must  also  bear  its  share 
of  responsibility.  He  was  amazed  at  this  violent 
and  threatening  interruption.  He  gave  a  funny 
little  skip  backwards  on  the  dais;  his  heel  came 
thereby  in  contact  with  the  high  hassock  on 
which  Mr.  Saffron's  feet  rested.  The  hassock 
was  shifted;  one  foot  fell  from  it  on  to  the  dais, 
and  Mr.  Saffron's  body  fell  a  little  forward 
from  out  of  the  deep  recess  of  his  great  chair. 
To  big  Neddy's  perturbed  imagination  it  looked 
as  if  Mr.  Saffron  had  set  one  foot  upon  the 
floor  of  the  dais  and  was  going  to  rise  from  his 
seat,  perhaps  to  come  down  from  the  dais,  to 
come  nearer  to  his  grave — to  ask  for  his  scepter. 

It  was  too  much  for  Neddy.  He  shuddered, 
he  could  not  help  it;  and  the  scepter  dropped 
from  his  hand.  It  fell  from  his  hand  back  into 
the  grave  again;  under  its  impact  the  gold  coins 
in  the  grave  again  jangled. 

Beaumaroy  had,  by  this  time,  been  standing 
close  outside  the  door  for  about  two  minutes; 

232 


THE  SCEPTER  IN  THE  GRAVE 

he  had  lighted  a  cigarette  from  the  candle  on 
the  parlor  table.  The  sounds  that  he  thought 
he  heard  were  not  conclusive;  creaks  and  cracks 
did  sometimes  come  from  the  boarded-up  win- 
dow and  the  rafters  of  the  roof.  But  the  sound 
of  the  jangling  gold  was  conclusive;  it  must  be 
due  in  some  way  to  human  agency;  and  in  the 
circumstances  human  agency  must  mean  a  thief. 

Beaumaroy's  mind  leapt  to  the  Sergeant.  Ten 
to  one  it  was  the  Sergeant!  He  had  long  been 
after  the  secret;  he  had  at  last  sniffed  it  out, 
and  was  helping  himself!  It  seemed  to  Beau- 
maroy  a  disgusting  thing  to  do,  with  the  dead 
man  sitting  there.  But  that  was  sentiment. 
Sentiment  was  not  to  be  expected  of  the  Ser- 
geant, and  disgusting  things  were. 

Then  he  suddenly  recalled  Alec  Naylor's  story 
of  the  two  men,  one  tall  and  slight,  one  short 
and  stumpy,  who  had  reconnoitered  Tower 
Cottage.  The  Sergeant  had  an  accomplice,  no 
doubt.  He  listened  again.  He  heard  the  scrape 
of  metal  on  metal,  as  when  a  man  gathers  up 
coins  in  his  hand  out  of  a  heap.  ,Yet  he  stood 

233 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

where  he  was,  smoking  still.  Thoughts  were 
passing  rapidly  through  his  brain,  and  they 
brought  a  smile  to  his  lips. 

Let  them  take  it !  Why  not  ?  It  was  no  care 
to  him  now!  Doctor  Mary  had  to  tell  the  truth 
about  it,  and  so,  consequently,  had  he  himself. 
It  belonged  to  the  Radbolts.  Oh,  damn  the 
Radbolts!  He  would  have  risked  his  life  for 
it  if  the  old  man  had  lived,  but  he  wasn't  going 
to  risk  his  life  for  the  Radbolts.  Let  the  rascals 
get  off  with  the  stuff,  or  as  much  as  they  could 
carry!  He  was  all  right.  Doctor  Mary  could 
testify  that  he  hadn't  taken  it.  Let  them  carry  off 
the  infernal  stuff !  Incidentally  he  would  be  well 
rid  of  the  Sergeant,  and  free  from  any  of  his 
importunities,  from  whines  and  threats  alike;  it 
was  not  an  unimportant,  if  a  minor,  considera- 
tion. 

Yet  it  was  a  disgusting  thing  to  do — it  cer- 
tainly was;  and  the  Sergeant  would  think  that 
he  had  scored  a  triumph.  Over  his  benefactor 
too,  his  protector,  Beaumaroy  reflected  with  a 
satiric  smile.  The  Sergeant  certainly  deserved 

234 


THE  SCEPTER  IN  THE  GRAVE 

a  fright — and,  if  possible,  a  licking.  These  ad- 
ministered, he  could  be  kicked  out;  perhaps — 
oh,  yes,  poor  brute ! — with  a  handful  of  the  Rad- 
bolts'  money.  They  would  never  miss  it,  as  they 
did  not  know  how  much  there  was,  and  such  a 
diversion  of  their  legal  property  in  no  way 
troubled  Beaumaroy's  conscience. 

And  the  accomplice?  He  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders. The  Sergeant  was,  as  he  well  knew  from 
his  military  experience  of  that  worthy  man,  an 
arrant  coward.  He  would  show  no  fight.  If  the 
accomplice  did,  Beaumaroy  was  quite  in  the 
mood  to  oblige  him.  But  while  he  tackled  one 
fellow,  the  other  might  get  off  with  the  money 
— with  as  much  as  he  could  carry.  For  all  that 
it  was  merely  Radbolt  money  now;  in  the  end 
Beaumaroy  could  not  stomach  the  idea  of  that — 
the  idea  that  either  of  the  dirty  rogues  in  there 
should  get  off  with  the  money.  And  it  was  fool- 
ish to  attack  them  on  the  front  on  which  they 
expected  to  be  attacked.  Quickly  his  mind 
formed  another  plan.  He  turned,  stole  softly 

235 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

out  of  the  parlor,  and  along  the  passage  towards 
the  front  door  of  the  cottage. 

After  Neddy  had  dropped  Mr.  Saffron's 
scepter  into  Captain  Duggle's  grave  (had  he 
known  that  it  was  Captain  Duggle's,  and  not 
been  a  prey  to  the  ridiculous  but  haunting  fancy 
that  it  had  been  destined  for,  or  even — oh, 
these  errant  fancies — already  occupied  by,  Mr. 
Saffron  himself,  Neddy  would  have  been  less 
agitated)  Mike  dealt  with  him  roundly.  In 
bitter  hissing  whispers,  and  in  language  suited 
thereto,  he  pointed  out  the  folly  of  vain  super- 
stitions, of  childish  fears  and  sick  imaginings 
which  interfered  with  business  and  threatened  its 
success.  His  eloquent  reasoning,  combined  with 
a  lively  desire  to  get  out  of  the  place  as  soon 
as  possible,  so  far  wrought  on  Neddy  that  he 
produced  the  sack  which  he  had  brought  with 
him,  and  held  its  mouth  open,  though  with 
trembling  hands,  while  Mike  scraped  up  handful 
after  handful  of  gold  coins  and  poured  them 
into  it.  They  were  busily  engaged  on  their  joint 
task  as  Beaumaroy  stole  along  the  passage  and, 

236 


THE  SCEPTER  IN  THE  GRAVE 

reaching  the  front  door,  again  stood  listening. 

The  Sergeant  was  still  keeping  his  vigil  be- 
fore the  door.  He  had  no  doubt  that  it  was 
locked;  did  not  Beaumaroy  see  Mrs.  Wiles  and 
himself  out  of  it  every  evening — the  back  door 
to  the  little  house  led  only  on  to  the  heath  be- 
hind and  gave  no  direct  access  to  the  road — 
and  lock  it  after  them  with  a  squeaking  key? 
He  would  have  warning  enough  if  anyone 
turned  the  key  now.  He  was  looking  towards 
the  road;  a  surprise  was  more  possible  from  that 
quarter;  his  back  was  towards  the  door  and  only 
a  very  little  way  from  it. 

But  when  Beaumaroy  had  entered  with 
Doctor  Mary,  he  had  not  re-locked  the  door; 
he  opened  it  now  very  gently  and  cautiously,  and 
saw  the  Sergeant's  back — there  was  no  mistak- 
ing it.  Without  letting  his  surprise — for  he  had 
confidently  supposed  the  Sergeant  to  be  in  the 
Tower — interfere  with  the  instant  action  called 
for  by  the  circumstances,  he  flung  out  his  long 
right  arm,  caught  the  Sergeant  round  the  neck 
with  a  throttling  grip,  and  dragged  him  back- 

237 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

wards  into  the  house.  The  man  was  incapable 
of  crying  out;  no  sound  escaped  from  him  which 
could  reach  the  Tower.  Beaumaroy  set  him 
softly  on  the  floor  of  the  passage.  "If  you  stir 
or  speak,  I'll  strangle  you!"  he  whispered. 
There  was  enough  light  from  the  passage  lamp 
to  enable  the  Sergeant  to  judge,  by  the  expres- 
sion of  his  face,  that  he  spoke  sincerely.  The 
Sergeant  did  not  dare  even  to  rub  his  throat, 
though  it  was  feeling  very  sore  and  uncom- 
fortable. 

There  was  a  row  of  pegs  on  the  passage  wall, 
just  inside  the  door.  On  them,  among  hats,  caps, 
and  coats — and  also  Mr.  Saffron's  gray  shawl — 
hung  two  long  neck-scarves,  comforters  that  the 
keen  heath  winds  made  very  acceptable  on  a 
walk.  Beaumaroy  took  them,  and  tied  his  pris- 
oner hand  and  foot.  He  had  just  completed  this 
operation,  in  the  workmanlike  fashion  which  he 
had  learnt  on  service,  when  he  heard  a  footstep 
on  the  stairs.  Looking  up,  he  saw  Doctor  Mary 
standing  there. 

Her  waiting  in  the  room  above  had  seemed 
238 


THE  SCEPTER  IN  THE  GRAVE 

long  to  her.  Her  ears  had  been  expecting  the 
sound  of  Beaumaroy's  tread  as  he  mounted  the 
stairs,  laden  with  his  burden.  That  sound  had 
not  come;  instead,  there  had  been  the  soft,  just 
audible,  plop  of  the  Sergeant's  body  as  it 
dropped  on  the  floor  of  the  passage.  It  occurred 
to  her  that  Beaumaroy  had  perhaps  had  some 
mishap  with  his  burden,  or  found  difficulty  with 
it.  She  was  coming  downstairs  to  offer  her  help. 
Seeing  what  she  saw  now,  she  stood  still  in 
surprise. 

Beaumaroy  looked  up  at  her  and  smiled.  "No 
cause  for  alarm,"  he  said,  "but  I've  got  to  go 
out  for  a  minute.  Keep  an  eye  on  this  rascal, 
will  you?  Oh,  and,  Doctor  Mary,  if  he  tries  to 
move  or  untie  himself,  just  take  the  parlor  poker 
and  hit  him  over  the  headi  Thanks.  You  don't 
mind,  dc  you?  And  you,  Sergeant,  remember 
what  I  said!" 

With  these  words  Beaumaroy  slipped  out  of 
the  door,  and  softly  closed  it  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  XV 

A  NORMAL  CASE 

WHEN  Captain  Alec  brought  his  fiancee  home 
after  the  dinner  of  welcome  and  congratulation 
at  Old  Place,  it  was  nearly  twelve  o'clock. 
Jeanne,  however — in  these  days  a  radiant 
Jeanne,  very  different  from  the  mournful  crea- 
ture who  had  accompanied  Captain  Cranster's 
victim  to  Inkston  a  few  weeks  before — was 
sitting  up  for  her  mistress  and,  since  she  had  to 
perform  this  duty — which  was  sweetened  by 
the  hope  of  receiving  exciting  confidences,  for 
surely  that  affair  was  "marching?" — it  had  been 
agreed  between  her  and  the  other  maids  that 
she  should  sit  up  for  the  Doctor  also.  She  told 
the  lovers  that  Doctor  Mary  had  been  called  for 
by  Mr.  Beaumaroy,  and  had  gone  out  with  him, 
presumably  to  visit  his  friend  Mr.  Saffron.  It 
did  not  occur  to  either  of  them  to  ask  when  Mary 

240 


A  NORMAL  CASE 


had  set  out;  they  contented  themselves  with  ex- 
changing a  glance  of  disapproval.  What  a  pity 
that  Mary  should  have  anything  more  to  do  with 
this  Mr.  Saffron  and  his  Beaumaroy! 

However  there  was  a  bright  side  to  it  this 
time.  It  would  be  kind  of  Cynthia  to  sit  up  for 
Mary,  and  minister  to  her  a  cup  of  tea  which 
Jeanne  should  prepare ;  and  it  would  be  pleasant 
— and  quite  permissible — for  Captain  Alec  to 
bear  her  company.  Mary  could  not  be  long, 
surely;  it  grew  late. 

So  for  a  while  they  thought  no  more  of  Mary 
— as  was  natural  enough.  They  had  so  much 
to  talk  about,  the  whole  of  a  new  and  very  won- 
derful life  to  speculate  about  and  to  plan,  the 
whole  of  their  past  acquaintance  to  review;  old 
doubts  had  to  be  confessed  and  laughed  at;  the 
inevitability  of  the  whole  thing  from  the  first  be- 
ginnings had  to  be  recognized,  proved,  and  ex- 
hibited. In  this  sweet  discourse  the  minutes  flew 
by  unmarked,  and  would  have  gone  on  flying, 
had  not  Jeanne  reappeared  of  her  own  accord, 
to  remark  that  it  really  was  very  late  now;  did 

£41 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

mademoiselle  think  that  possibly  anything  could 
have  happened  to  Doctor  Arkroyd? 

"By  Jove,  it  is  late  I"  cried  the  Captain,  look- 
ing at  his  watch.  "It's  past  one!" 

Cynthia  was  amazed  to  hear  that. 

"He  must  be  very  ill,  that  old  gentleman," 
Jeanne  opined.  "And  poor  Doctor  Arkroyd 
will  be  very  tired.  She  will  find  the  walk  across 
the  heath  very  fatiguing." 

"Walk,  Jeanne?  Didn't  she  take  the  car?" 
cried  Cynthia,  surprised. 

No,  the  Doctor  had  not  taken  the  car;  she 
had  started  to  walk  with  Mr.  Beaumaroy;  the 
parlormaid  had  certainly  told  Jeanne  that. 

"I  tell  you  what,"  said  the  Captain.  "I'll  just 
tool  along  to  Tower  Cottage.  I'll  look  out  for 
Doctor  Mary  on  the  road,  and  give  her  a  lift 
back  if  I  meet  her.  If  I  don't,  I  can  stop  at 
the  cottage  and  get  Beaumaroy  to  tell  her  that 
I'm  there,  and  can  wait  to  bring  her  home  as 
soon  as  she's  ready.  You'd  better  go  to  bed, 
Cynthia." 

Jeanne  tactfully  disappeared,  and  the  lovers 
242 


A  NORMAL  CASE 


said  good-night.  After  Alec's  departure,  Jeanne 
received  the  anticipated  confidence. 

That  departure  almost  synchronized  with  two 
events  at  Tower  Cottage.  The  first  was  Beau- 
maroy's  exit  from  the  front  door,  leaving  Mary 
in  charge  of  his  prisoner  who,  consequently,  was 
unable  to  keep  any  watch  on  the  road  or  to  warn 
his  principals  of  approaching  danger.  The  sec- 
ond was  big  Neddy's  declaration  that,  in  his 
opinion,  the  sack  now  held  about  as  much  as 
he  could  carry.  He  raised  it  from  the  floor  in 
his  two  hands.  "Must  weight  a  'undred  pound 
or  more!"  he  reckoned.  That  meant  a  lot  of 
money,  a  fat  lot  of  money.  His  terrors  had  be- 
gun to  wear  off,  since  nothing  of  a  supernatural 
or  even  creepy  order  had  actually  happened. 
He  had,  at  last,  even  agreed  to  the  candles  being 
put  out.  Still  he  would  be  glad  to  be  off. 
"Enough's  as  good  as  a  feast,  as  the  sayin'  goes, 
Mike,"  he  chuckled. 

Mike  had  fitted  a  new  battery  into  his  torch. 
It  shone  brightly  on  Neddy  and  on  the  sack, 
whose  mouth  Neddy  was  now  tying  up.  "I 

243 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

might  fill  my  pockets  too,"  he  suggested,  eyeing 
the  very  respectable  amount  of  sovereigns  which 
still  remained  in  Captain  Duggle's  tomb. 

"Don't  do  it,  old  lad,"  Neddy  advised.  "If 
we  'ave  to  get  out,  or  anything  of  that  kind,  you 
don't  want  to  jingle  as  if  you  was  a  glass 
chandelier,  do  you?" 

Mike  admitted  the  cogency  of  the  objection, 
and  they  agreed  to  be  off.  Mike  started  for  the 
window.  "I'll  just  pick  up  the  Sergeant,"  he 
said,  "and  signal  you  'All  clear.'  Then  you  fol- 
low out." 

"No,  Mike,"  said  Neddy  slowly,  but  very  de- 
cisively. "If  you  don't  mind,  it's  going  to  be 
me  as  gets  out  of  that  window  first.  I  ain't  a 
man  of  your  eddication,  and — well,  blast  me  if 
I'm  going  to  be  left  in  this  place  alone  with — 
that  there!"  He  motioned  with  his  head,  back 
over  his  shoulder,  towards  where  silent  Mr. 
Saffron  sat. 

"You're  a  blooming  ass,  Neddy,  but  have  it 
your  own  way.  Only  let  me  see  the  coast's  clear 
first." 

244 


A  NORMAL  CASE 


He  stole  to  the  window  and  looked  around. 
He  assumed  that  the  Sergeant  was  at  his  post, 
but  all  the  same  he  wanted  to  have  a  look  at  the 
road  himself.  So  he  had,  and  the  result  was 
satisfactory.  It  was  hardly  to  be  expected  that 
he  should  scrutinize  the  ground  immediately 
under  the  window;  at  any  rate  he  did  not  think 
of  that.  It  was,  as  Beaumaroy  had  conjectured, 
from  another  direction,  from  the  parlor,  that  he 
anticipated  a  possible  attack.  There  all  was 
quiet.  He  came  back  and  reported  to  Neddy 
that  the  moment  was  favorable.  "I'll  switch  off 
the  torch,  though,  just  in  case.  You  can  feel 
your  way;  keep  to  the  edge  of  the  steps;  don't 
knock  up  against " 

"I'll  take  damned  good  care  not  to  1"  muttered 
Neddy,  with  a  little  shiver. 

He  made  his  way  to  the  window,  through  the 
darkness,  having  slung  his  sack  over  his  shoul- 
der and  holding  it  with  his  right  hand,  while  with 
the  left  he  guided  himself  up  the  dais  and  along 
its  outside  edge,  giving  as  wide  a  berth  as  pos- 
sible to  the  great  chair  and  its  encircling  canopy. 

245 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

With  a  sigh  of  relief  he  found  the  window, 
moved  the  sack  from  his  shoulder,  and  set  it  on 
the  ledge  for  a  moment.  But  it  was  awkward 
to  get  down  from  the  window,  holding  that 
heavy  sack.  He  lowered  it  towards  the  ground, 
so  that  it  might  land  gently,  and,  just  as  he 
let  it  go,  he  turned  his  head  back  and  whispered 
to  Mike,  "All  serene.  Get  a  move  on !" 

"Half  a  minute!"  answered  Mike,  as  he  in 
his  turn  set  out  to  grope  his  way  to  the  window. 

But  he  was  not  so  cautious  as  his  friend  had 
been.  In  his  progress  he  kicked  the  tall  foot- 
stool sharply  with  one  of  his  feet.  Neddy  leant 
back  from  the  window,  asking  quickly,  and 
again  very  nervously,  "What  the  devil's  that?" 

Beaumaroy  could  not  resist  the  opportunity 
thus  offered  to  him.  -He  was  crouching  on  the 
ground,  not  exactly  under  the  window,  but  just 
to  the  right  of  it.  Neddy's  face  was  turned 
away;  he  threw  himself  on  to  the  bag,  rose  to 
his  feet,  raised  it  cautiously,  and  holding  it  in 
front  of  him  with  both  his  hands — its  weight  was 
fully  as  much  as  he  could  manage — was  round 

246 


A  NORMAL  CASE 


the  curve  of  the  Tower  and  out  of  sight  with  it 
in  an  instant. 

At  the  back  of  the  house  there  was  a  space 
of  ground  where  Mrs.  Wiles  grew  a  few  vege- 
tables for  the  household's  use.  It  was  a  clearing 
made  from  the  heath,  but  it  was  not  enclosed. 
Beaumaroy  was  able  to  reach  the  back  entrance, 
by  which  this  patch  of  ground  could  be  entered 
from  the  kitchen.  Just  by  the  kitchen  door 
stood  that  useful  thing,  a  butt  for  rainwater.  It 
stood  some  three,  or  three-and-a-half,  feet  high; 
and  it  was  full  to  the  brim  almost.  With  a 
fresh  effort  Beaumaroy  raised  the  sack  to  the 
level  of  his  breast.  Then  he  lowered  it  into  the 
water,  not  dropping  it,  for  fear  of  a  splash,  but 
immersing  both  his  arms  above  the  elbow.  Only 
when  he  felt  the  weight  off  them,  as  the  sack 
touched  bottom,  did  he  release  his  hold.  Then 
with  cautious  steps  he  continued  his  progress 
round  the  house  and,  coming  to  the  other  side, 
crouched  close  by  the  wall  again  and  waited. 
Where  he  was  now,  he  could  see  the  fence  that 
separated  the  front  garden  from  the  road,  and 

247 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

he  was  not  more  than  ten  or  twelve  feet  from 
the  front  door  on  his  left.  As  he  huddled  down 
there,  he  could  not  repress  a  smile  of  amuse- 
ment, even  of  self-congratulation.  However,  he 
turned  to  the  practical  job  of  squeezing  the 
water  out  of  his  sleeves. 

In  thus  congratulating  himself,  he  was  pre- 
mature. His  action  had  been  based  on  a  mis- 
calculation. He  had  heard  only  Neddy's  last 
exclamation,  not  the  cautious  whispers  previously 
exchanged  between  him  and  Mike;  he  thought 
that  the  man  astride  the  window-sill  himself  had 
kicked  something  and  instinctively  exclaimed, 
"What  the  devil's  that?"  He  thought  that  the 
sack  was  lowered  from  the  window  in  order  to 
be  committed  to  the  temporary  guardianship  of 
the  Sergeant,  who  was  doubtless  looking  out  for 
it  and,  if  he  had  his  ears  open,  would  hear  its 
gentle  thud.  Perhaps  the  man  in  the  Tower  was 
collecting  a  second  instalment  of  booty;  heavy 
as  the  sack  was,  it  did  not  contain  all  that  he 
knew  to  be  in  Captain  Duggle's  grave.  Be  that 
as  it  might,  the  man  would  climb  out  of  the 

248 


A  NORMAL  CASE 


window  soon;  and  he  would  fail  to  find  his  sack. 

What  would  he  do  then?  He  would  signal 
or  call  to  the  Sergeant;  or,  if  they  had  a  pre- 
concerted rendezvous,  he  would  betake  himselt 
there,  expecting  to  find  his  accomplice.  He 
would  neither  get  an  answer  from  him  nor  find 
him,  of  course.  Equally,  of  course,  he  would 
look  for  him.  But  the  last  place  where  he  would 
expect  to  find  him — the  last  place  he  would 
search — would  be  where  the  Sergeant  in  fact 
was,  the  house  itself.  If,  in  his  search  for 
Hooper,  he  found  Beaumaroy,  it  would  be  man 
to  man,  and,  now  again,  Beaumaroy  had  no  ob- 
jection. 

But,  in  fact,  there  were  two  men  in  the  Tower 
— one  of  them  big  Neddy;  and  the  function, 
which  Beaumaroy  supposed  to  have  been  in- 
trusted to  the  Sergeant,  had  never  been  assigned 
to  him  at  all;  to  guard  the  door  and  the  road 
had  been  his  only  tasks.  When  they  found  the 
bag  gone,  and  the  Sergeant  too,  they  might  well 
think  that  the  Sergeant  had  betrayed  them;  that 
he  had  gone  off  on  his  own  account,  or  that  he 

249 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

had,  at  the  last  moment,  under  an  impulse  of 
fear  or  a  calculation  of  interest,  changed  sides 
and  joined  the  garrison  in  the  house.  If  he  had 
gone  off  with  the  sack,  he  could  not  have  gone 
fast  or  far  with  it.  Failing  to  overtake  him, 
they  might  turn  back  to  the  cottage;  for  they 
knew  themselves  to  be  in  superior  force.  Beau- 
maroy  was  in  greater  danger  than  he  knew — and 
so  was  Doctor  Mary  in  the  house. 

Big  Neddy  let  himself  down  from  the  window, 
and  put  down  his  hand  to  lift  up  the  sack;  he 
groped  about  for  it  for  some  seconds,  during 
which  time  Mike  also  climbed  over  the  window- 
sill  and  dropped  on  to  the  ground  below.  Neddy 
emitted  a  low  but  strenuous  oath. 

"The  sack's  gone,  Mike!"  he  added  in  a 
whisper. 

"Gone?  Rot!  Can't  be  I  What  do  you  mean, 
Neddy?" 

"I  dropped  it  straight  'ere.  It's  gone,"  Neddy 
persisted.  "The  Sergeant  must  'ave  took  it." 

"No  business  of  his!  Where  is  the  fool?" 
Mike's  voice  was  already  uneasy;  thieves  them- 

250 


A  NORMAL  CASE 


selves  seldom  believe  in  there  being  honor  among 
them.  "You  stay  here.  I'll  go  to  the  door  and 
see  if  he's  there." 

He  was  just  about  to  put  this  purpose  into 
execution — in  which  event  it  was  quite  likely 
that  Beaumaroy,  hearing  his  approach  or  his  call 
to  the  Sergeant,  would  have  sprung  out  upon 
him,  only  to  find  himself  assailed  the  next  instant 
by  another  and  far  more  formidable  antagonist 
in  the  person  of  big  Neddy,  and  thus  in  sore 
peril  of  his  life — when  the  hum  of  Captain  Alec's 
engine  became  audible  in  the  distance.  The  next 
moment,  the  lights  of  his  car  became  visible  to 
all  the  men  in  the  little  front  garden  of  the 
cottage. 

"Hist!  Wait  till  that's  gone  by!"  whispered 
Neddy. 

"Yes,  and  get  round  to  the  back.  Get  out  of 
sight  round  here."  He  drew  Neddy  round  the 
curve  of  the  Tower  wall  till  his  big  frame  was 
hidden  by  it;  then  he  himself  crouched  down 
under  the  wall,  with  his  head  cautiously  pro- 
truded. The  night  had  grown  clearer;  it  was 

251 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

possible  to  see  figures  at  a  distance  of  some  yards 
now. 

Beaumaroy  also  perceived  the  car.  Whose  it 
was  and  the  explanation  of  its  appearance  even 
occurred  to  his  mind.  But  he  kept  still.  He  did 
not  want  visitors;  he  conceived  his  hand  to  be 
a  better  one  than  it  really  was,  and  preferred  to 
play  it  by  himself.  If  the  car  passed  by,  well 
and  good.  Only  if  it  stopped  at  the  gate  would 
he  have  to  take  action. 

It  did  stop  at  the  gate.  Mike  saw  it  stop. 
Then  its  engine  was  shut  off,  and  a  man  got  out 
of  it,  and  came  up  to  the  garden  gate.  Though 
the  watching  Mike  had  never  seen  him  before, 
he  had  little  difficulty  in  guessing  who  he  was, 
and  he  remembered  something  that  the  Sergeant 
had  said  about  him.  Of  a  certainty  it  was  the 
redoubtable  Captain  Naylor.  Through  the 
darkness  he  loomed  enormous,  as  tall  as  big 
Neddy  himself  and  no  whit  less  broad.  A  pow- 
erful reinforcement  for  the  garrison  1 

And  what  would  the  Sergeant  do,  if  he  were 
252 


A  NORMAL  CASE 


still  at  his  post  by  the  door — with  or  without  that 
missing,  that  all-important,  sack? 

Another  tall  figure  came  into  Mike's  view — 
from  where  he  could  not  distinctly  see ;  it  hardly 
seemed  to  be  from  the  door  of  the  cottage,  for 
no  light  showed,  and  there  was  no  sound  of  an 
opening  door.  But  it  appeared  from  somewhere 
near  there;  it  was  on  the  path,  and  it  moved 
along  to  the  gate  in  a  leisurely  unhurried  ap- 
proach. A  man  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets — 
that  was  what  it  looked  like.  This  must  be  the 
garrison;  this  must  be  the  Sergeant's  friend, 
master,  protector,  and  bete  noire  f  his  "Boomery." 

But  the  Sergeant  himself?  Where  was  he? 
He  could  hardly  be  at  his  post;  or  Beaumaroy 
and  he  must  have  seen  one  another,  must  have 
taken  some  heed  of  one  another;  something  must 
have  passed  between  them,  either  friendly  or 
hostile.  Mike  turned  round  and  whispered 
hastily,  close  into  Neddy's  ear.  Neddy  crawled 
a  little  forward,  and  put  his  own  bullet  head  far 
enough  round  the  curve  of  the  wall  to  see  the 

253 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

meeting  between  the  garrison  and  its  unexpected 
reinforcement. 

Beaumaroy,  hands  in  pockets,  lounged  non- 
chalantly down  to  the  gate.  He  opened  it;  the 
Captain  entered.  The  two  shook  hands  and 
stood  there,  apparently  in  conversation.  The 
words  did  not  reach  the  ears  of  the  listeners,  but 
the  sound  of  voices  did — voices  hushed  in  tone. 
Once  Beaumaroy  pointed  to  the  house;  both 
Mike  and  Neddy  marked  the  outstretched  hand. 
Was  Beaumaroy  telling  his  companion  about 
something  that  had  been  happening  at  the  house? 
Were  they  concocting  a  plan  of  defense — or  of 
attack?  With  the  disappearance,  perhaps  the 
treachery,  of  the  Sergeant,  and  the  appearance 
of  this  new  ally  for  the  garrison,  the  prospects 
of  a  fight  took  on  a  very  different  look.  Neddy 
might  tackle  the  big  stranger  with  an  equal 
chance.  How  would  Mike  fare  in  an  encounter 
with  Beaumaroy?  He  did  not  relish  the  idea 
of  it. 

And,  while  they  fought,  the  traitor  Sergeant 
might  be  on  their  backs!  Or — on  the  other 

254 


A  NORMAL  CASE 


hypothesis — he  might  he  getting  off  with  the 
swag!    Neither  alternative  was  satisfactory. 

"PYaps  he's  gone  off  to  the  car  with  the  sack 
— in  a  fright,  like,  thinking  we'll  guess  that!" 
whispered  Neddy. 

Mike  did  not  much  think  so,  though  he  would 
much  have  liked  to.  But  he  received  the  suggestion 
kindly.  "We  might  as  well  have  a  look;  we  can 
come  back  afterwards  if — if  we  like.  Perhaps 
that  big  brute'll  have  gone." 

"The  thing  as  I  want  to  do  most  is  to  wring 
that  Sergeant's  neck  I" 

Their  whispers  were  checked  by  a  new  devel- 
opment. The  cottage  door  opened  for  a  moment 
and  then  closed  again;  they  could  tell  that,  both 
by  the  sound  and  by  the  momentary  ray  of  light. 
Yet  a  light  persisted  after  the  door  was  shut. 
It  came  from  a  candle,  which  burnt  steadily  in 
the  stillness  of  the  night.  It  was  carried  by  a 
woman,  who  came  down  the  path  towards  where 
Beaumaroy  and  the  Captain  stood  in  conversa- 
tion. Both  turned  towards  her  with  eager  atten- 
tion. 

255 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

"Now's  our  time,  then!  They  aren't  looking 
our  way  now.  We  can  get  across  the  heath  to 
where  the  car  is." 

They  moved  off  very  softly,  keeping  the 
Tower  between  them  and  the  group  on  the  path. 
They  gained  the  back  of  the  house,  and  so  the 
open  heath,  and  made  off  to  their  destination. 
They  moved  so  softly  that  they  escaped  unheard 
— unless  Beaumaroy  were  right  in  the  notion  that 
his  ear  caught  a  little  rustle  of  the  bracken.  He 
took  no  heed  of  it,  unless  a  passing  smile  might 
be  reckoned  as  such. 

Doctor  Mary  joined  him  and  the  Captain  on 
the  path.  Beaumaroy's  smile  gave  way  to  a  look 
of  expectant  interest.  He  wondered  what  she 
was  going  to  say  to  Captain  Alec.  There  was  so 
much  that  she  might  say,  or — just  conceivably — 
leave  unsaid. 

She  spoke  calmly  and  quietly.  "It's  you,  Cap- 
tain Alec  I  I  thought  sol  Cynthia  got  anxious? 
I'm  all  right.  I  suppose  Mr.  Beaumaroy  has 
told  you?  Poor  Mr.  Saffron  is  dead." 

"I've  told  him,"  said  Beaumaroy. 
256 


A  NORMAL  CASE 


"Of  heart  disease,"  Mary  added.  "Quite  pain- 
lessly, I  think — and  quite  a  normal  case,  though, 
of  course,  it's  distressing." 

"I — I'm  sorry,"  stammered  Captain  Alec. 

Beatunaroy's  eyes  met  Mary's  in  the  candle's 
light  with  a  swift  glance  of  surprise  and  inquiry. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

DEAD  MAJESTY 

MABY  did  not  appear  to  answer  Beaumaroy's 
glance;  she  continued  to  look  at,  and  to  address 
herself  to,  Captain  Alec.  "I  am  tired,  and  I 
should  love  a  ride  home.  But  I've  still  a  little 
to  do,  and — I  know  it's  awfully  late,  but  would 
you  mind  waiting  just  a  little  while?  I'm  afraid 
I  might  be  as  much  as  half-an-hour." 

"Right  you  are,  Doctor  Mary — as  long  as  you 
like.  I'll  walk  up  and  down,  and  smoke  a 
cigar;  I  want  one  badly."  Mary  made  an  ex- 
tremely faint  motion  of  her  hand  towards  the 
house.  "Oh,  thanks,  but  really  I — well,  I  shall 
feel  more  comfortable  here,  I  think." 

Mary  smiled;  it  was  always  safe  to  rely  on 
Captain  Alec's  fine  feelings;  under  the  circum- 
stances he  would — she  had  felt  pretty  sure — 
prefer  to  smoke  his  cigar  outside  the  house.  "I'll 
be  as  quick  as  I  can.  Come,  Mr.  Beaumaroy!" 

258 


DEAD  MAJESTY 


Beaumaroy  followed  her  up  the  path  and  into 
the  house.  The  Sergeant  was  still  on  the  floor 
of  the  passage;  he  rolled  apprehensive  resentful 
eyes  at  them;  Mary  took  no  heed  of  him,  but  pre- 
ceded Beaumaroy  into  the  parlor  and  shut  the 
door. 

"I  don't  know  what  your  game  is,"  remarked 
Beaumaroy  in  a  low  voice,  "but  you  couldn't 
have  played  mine  better.  I  don't  want  him  in- 
side the  house;  but  I'm  mighty  glad  to  have  him 
extremely  visible  outside  it." 

"It  was  very  quiet  inside  there" — she  pointed 
to  the  door  of  the  Tower — "just  before  I  came 
out.  Before  that,  I'd  heard  odd  sounds.  Was 
there  somebody  there — and  the  Sergeant  in 
league  with  him?" 

"Exactly,"  smiled  Beaumaroy.  "It  is  all 
quiet.  I  think  I'll  have  a  look." 

The  candle  on  the  table  had  burnt  out.  He 
took  another  from  the  sideboard  and  lit  it  from 
the  one  which  Mary  still  held. 

"Like  the  poker?"  she  asked,  with  a  flicker 
of  a  smile  on  her  face. 

259 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

"No  you  come  and  help,  if  I  cry  outl"  He 
could  not  repress  a  chuckle;  Doctor  Mary  was 
interesting  him  extremely. 

Lighted  by  his  candle,  he  went  into  the  Tower. 
She  heard  him  moving  about  there,  as  she  stood 
thoughtfully  by  the  extinct  fire,  still  with  her 
candle  in  her  hand. 

Beaumaroy  returned.  "He's  gone — or  they've 
gone."  He  exhibited  to  her  gaze  two  objects — 
a  checked  pocket-handkerchief  and  a  tobacco 
pouch.  "Number  one  found  on  the  edge  of  the 
grave — Number  two  on  the  floor  of  the  dais,  just 
behind  the  canopy.  If  the  same  man  had  drawn 
them  both  out  of  the  same  pocket  at  the  same 
time — wanting  tc  blow  the  same  nose,  Doctor 
Mary — they'd  have  fallen  at  the  same  place, 
wouldn't  they?" 

"Wonderful,  Holmes!"  said  Mary.  "And 
now,  shall  we  attend  to  Mr.  Saffron?" 

They  carried  out  that  office,  the  course  of 
which  they  had  originally  prepared.  Beaumaroy 
passed  with  his  burden  hard  by  the  Sergeant, 
and  Mary  followed.  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour 

260 


DEAD  MAJESTY 


they  came  downstairs  again,  and  Mary  again  led 
the  way  into  the  parlor.  She  went  to  the  window, 
and  drew  the  curtains  aside  a  little  way.  The 
lights  of  the  car  were  burning;  the  Captain's  tall 
figure  fell  within  their  rays  and  was  plainly 
visible,  strolling  up  and  down;  the  ambit  of  the 
rays  did  not,  however,  embrace  the  Tower  win- 
dow. The  Captain  paced  and  smoked,  patient, 
content,  gone  back  to  his  own  happy  memories 
and  anticipations.  Mary  returned  to  the  table 
and  set  her  candle  down  on  it. 

"All  right.  I  think  we  can  keep  him  a  little 
longer." 

"I  vote  we  do,"  said  Beaumaroy.  "I  reckon 
he's  scared  the  fellows  away,  and  they  won't 
come  back  so  long  as  they  see  his  lights." 

Rash  at  conclusions  sometimes — as  has  been 
seen — Beaumaroy  was  right  in  his  opinion  of 
the  Captain's  value  as  a  sentry,  or  a  scarecrow 
to  keep  away  hungry  birds.  The  confederates 
had  stolen  back  to  their  base  of  operations — to 
where  their  car  lay  behind  the  trees.  There,  too, 
no  Sergeant  and  no  sack!  Neddy  reached  for 

261 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

his  roomy  flask,  drank  of  it,  and  with  hoarse 
curses  consigned  the  entire  course  of  events,  his 
accomplices,  even  himself,  to  nethermost  perdi- 
tion. "That  place  ain't — natural!"  he  ended  in 
a  gloomy  conviction.  "  'Oo  pinched  that  sack? 
The  Sergeant?  Well — maybe  it  was,  and  maybe 
it  wasn't."  He  finished  the  flask  to  cure  a  re- 
currence of  the  shudders. 

Mike  prevailed  with  him  so  far  that  he  con- 
sented— reluctantly — to  be  left  alone  on  the 
blasted  heath,  while  his  friend  went  back  to  re- 
connoiter.  Mike  went,  and  presently  returned; 
the  car  was  still  there,  the  tall  figure  was  still 
pacing  up  and  down. 

"And  perhaps  the  other  one's  gone  for  the 
police!"  Mike  suggested  uneasily.  "Guess  we've 
lost  the  hand,  Neddy!  Best  be  moving,  eh?  It's 
no  go  for  to-night." 

"Catch  me  trying  the  bloomin'  place  any  other 
night!"  grumbled  Neddy.  "It's  given  me  the 
'errors,  and  no  mistake." 

Mike — Mr.  Percy  Bennett,  that  erstwhile 
gentlemanly  stranger — recognized  one  of  his 

262 


DEAD  MAJESTY 


failures.  Such  things  are  incidental  to  all  pro- 
fessions. "Our  best  game  is  to  go  back;  if  the 
Sergeant's  on  the  square,  we'll  hear  from  him." 
But  he  spoke  without  much  hope;  rationalist  as 
he  professed  himself,  still  he  was  affected  by  the 
atmosphere  of  the  Tower.  With  what  difficulty 
do  we  entirely  throw  off  atavistic  notions  I  They 
both  of  them  had,  at  the  bottom  ol  their  minds, 
the  idea  that  the  dead  man  on  the  high  seat  had 
defeated  them,  and  that  no  luck  lay  in  meddling 
with  his  treasure. 

"I  'ave  my  doubts  whether  that  ugly  Ser- 
geant's 'uman  himself,"  growled  Neddy,  as  he 
hoisted  his  bulk  into  the  car. 

So  they  went  back  to  whence  they  came;  and 
the  impression  that  the  night's  adventure  left 
upon  them  was  heightened  as  the  days  went  by. 
For,  strange  to  say,  though  they  watched  all  the 
usual  channels  of  information,  as  Ministers  say 
in  Parliament,  and  also  tried  to  open  up  some 
unusual  ones,  they  never  heard  anything  again 
of  the  Sergeant,  of  the  sack  of  gold,  of  the  yawn- 
ing tomb  with  its  golden  lining,  of  its  silent 

263 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

waxen-faced  enthroned  guardian  who  had  de- 
feated them.  It  all — the  whole  bizarre  scene — 
vanished  from  their  ken,  as  though  it  had  been 
one  of  those  alluring,  thwarting  dreams  which 
afflict  men  in  sleep.  It  was  an  experience  to 
which  they  were  shy  of  alluding  among  their 
confidential  friends,  even  of  talking  about  be- 
tween themselves.  In  a  word — uncomfortable! 

Meanwhile  the  Sergeant's  association  with 
Tower  Cottage  had  also  drawn  to  its  close. 
After  his  search  and  his  discovery  in  the  Tower, 
Beaumaroy  came  out  into  the  passage  where  the 
prisoner  lay,  and  proceeded  to  unfasten  his 
bonds. 

"Stand  up  and  listen  to  me,  Sergeant,"  he 
said.  "Your  pals  have  run  away;  they  can't  help 
you,  and  they  wouldn't  if  they  could,  because, 
owing  to  you,  they  haven't  got  away  with  any 
plunder,  and  so  they'll  be  in  a  very  bad  temper 
with  you.  In  the  road,  in  front  of  the  house, 
is  Captain  Naylor — you  know  that  officer  and 
his  dimensions  ?  He's  in  a  very  temper  with  you 
too.  (Here  Beaumaroy  was  embroidering  the 


DEAD  MAJESTY 


situation;  the  Sergeant  was  not  really  in  Cap- 
tain Alec's  thoughts.)  Finally,  I'm  in  a  very 
bad  temper  with  you  myself.  If  I  see  your  ugly 
phiz  much  longer,  I  may  break  out.  Don't  you 
think  you'd  better  depart — by  the  back  door — 
and  go  home?  And  if  you're  not  out  of  Inkston 
for  good  and  all  by  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  if  you  ever  show  yourself  there  again,  look 
out  for  squalls.  What  you've  got  out  of  this 
business  I  don't  know.  You  can  keep  it — and 
I'll  give  you  a  parting  present  myself  as  well." 

"I  knows  a  thing  or  two "  the  Sergeant 

began,  but  he  saw  a  look  that  he  had  seen  only 
once  or  twice  before  on  Beaumaroy's  face;  on 
each  occasion  it  had  been  followed  by  the  death 
of  the  enemy  whose  act  had  elicited  it. 

"Oh,  try  that  game,  just  try  it!"  Beaumaroy 
muttered.  "Just  give  me  that  excuse!"  He  ad- 
vanced to  the  Sergeant,  who  fell  suddenly  on 
his  knees.  "Don't  make  a  noise,  you  hound,  or 
I'll  silence  you  for  good  and  all — I'd  do  it  for 
twopence!"  He  took  hold  of  the  Sergeant's 
coat-collar,  jerked  him  on  to  his  legs,  and  pro- 

265 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

pelled  him  to  the  kitchen  and  through  it  to  the 
back  door.  Opening  it,  he  dispatched  the  Ser- 
geant through  the  doorway  with  an  accurate  and 
vigorous  kick.  He  fell,  and  lay  sprawling  on 
the  ground  for  a  second,  then  gathered  himself 
up  and  ran  hastily  over  the  heath,  soon  disap- 
pearing in  the  darkness.  The  memory  of  Beau- 
maroy's  look  was  even  keener  than  the  sensation 
caused  by  Beaumaroy's  boot.  It  sent  him  in 
flight  back  to  Inkston,  thence  to  London,  thence 
into  the  unknown,  to  some  spot  chosen  for  its 
remoteness  from  Beaumaroy,  from  Captain  Nay- 
lor,  from  Mike  and  from  Neddy.  He  recognized 
his  unpopularity,  thereby  achieving  a  triumph  in 
a  difficult  little  branch  of  wisdom. 

Beaumaroy  returned  to  the  parlor  hastily ;  not 
so  much  to  avoid  keeping  Captain  Alec  waiting 
'. — it  was  quite  a  useful  precaution  to  have  that 
sentry  on  duty  a  little  longer — as  because  his 
curiosity  and  interest  had  been  excited  by  the 
description  which  Doctor  Mary  had  given  of 
Mr.  Saffron's  death.  It  was  true,  probably  the 
precise  truth,  but  it  seemed  to  have  been  volun- 


DEAD  MAJESTY 


teered  in  a  rather  remarkable  way  and  worded 
with  careful  purpose.  Also  it  was  the  bare 
truth,  the  truth  denuded  of  all  its  attendant  cir- 
cumstances— which  had  not  been  normal. 

When  he  rejoined  her,  Mary  was  sitting  in  the 
armchair  by  the  fire;  she  heard  his  account  of 
the  state  of  affairs  up-to-date  with  a  thought- 
ful smile,  smoking  a  cigarette;  her  smile  broad- 
ened over  the  tale  of  the  water-butt.  She  had 
put  on  the  fur  cloak  in  which  she  had  walked  to 
the  cottage — the  fire  was  out  and  the  room  cold; 
framed  in  the  furs,  the  outline  of  her  face  looked 
softer. 

"So  we  stand  more  or  less  as  we  did  before  the 
burglars  appeared  on  the  scene,"  she  commented. 

"Except  that  our  personal  exertions  have 
saved  that  money." 

"I  suppose  you  would  prefer  that  all  the  cir- 
cumstances shouldn't  come  out?  There  have 
been  irregularities." 

"I  should  prefer  tfiat,  not  so  much  on  my  own 
account — I  don't  know  and  don't  care  what  they 
could  do  to  me — as  for  the  old  man's  sake." 

267 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

"If  I  know  you,  I  think  you  would  rather 
enjoy  being  able  to  keep  your  secret.  You  like 
having  the  laugh  of  people.  I  know  that  myself, 
Mr.  Beaumaroy."  She  exchanged  a  smile  with 
him.  "You  want  a  death  certificate  from  me/' 
she  added. 

"I  suppose  I  do,"  Beaumaroy  agreed. 

"In  the  sort  of  terms  in  which  I  described 
Mr.  Saffron's  death  to  Captain  Alec?  If  I  gave 
such  a  certificate,  there  would  remain  nothing — 
well,  nothing  peculiar — except  the — the  appear- 
ance of  things  in  the  Tower." 

Her  eyes  were  now  fixed  on  his  face;  he 
nodded  his  head  with  a  smile  of  understanding. 
There  was  something  new  in  the  tone  of  Doctor 
Mary's  voice;  not  only  friendliness,  though  that 
was  there,  but  a  note  of  excitement,  of  enjoy- 
ment, as  though  she  also  were  not  superior  to 
the  pleasure  of  having  the  laugh  of  people. 
"But  it's  rather  straining  a  point  to  say  that — 
and  nothing  more.  I  could  do  it  only  if  you  made 
me  feel  that  I  could  trust  you  absolutely." 

268 


DEAD  MAJESTY 


Beaumaroy  made  a  little  grimace,  and  waited 
for  her  to  develop  her  subject. 

"Your  morality  is  different  from  most 
people's,  and  from  mine.  Mine  is  conventional." 

"Conventual!"  Beaumaroy  murmured. 

"Yours  isn't.  It's  all  personal  with  you.  You 
recognize  no  rights  in  people  whom  you  don't 
like,  or  who  you  think  aren't  deserving,  or 
haven't  earned  rights.  And  you  don't  judge 
your  own  rights  hy  what  the  law  gives  you, 
either.  The  right  of  conquest  you  called  it;  you 
hold  yourself  free  to  exercise  that  against  every- 
body, except  your  friends,  and  against  everybody 
in  the  interest  of  your  friends — like  poor  Mr. 
Saffron.  I  believe  you'd  do  the  same  for  me 
if  I  asked  you  to." 

"I'm  glad  you  believe  that,  Doctor  Mary." 

"But  I  can't  deal  with  you  on  that  basis.  It's 
even  difficult  to  be  friends  on  that  basis — and 
certainly  impossible  to  be  partners." 

"I  never  suggested  that  we  should  be  partners 
over  the  money,"  Beaumaroy  put  in  quickly. 

"No.  But  I'm  suggesting  now — as  you  did 
269 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

before — that  we  should  be  partners — in  a  secret, 
in  Mr.  Saffron's  secret."  She  smiled  again  as 
she  added,  "You  can  manage  it  all,  I  know, 
if  you  like.  I've  unlimited  confidence  in  your 
ingenuity — quite  unlimited." 

"But  none  at  all  in  my  honesty?" 

"You've  got  an  honesty;  but  I  don't  call  it  a 
really  honest  honesty." 

"All  this  leads  up  to — the  Radbolts!"  declared 
Beaumaroy  with  a  gesture  of  disgust. 

"It  does.  I  want  your  word  of  honor — given 
to  a  friend — that  all  that  money — all  of  it — 
goes  to  the  Radbolts,  if  it  legally  belongs  to 
them.  I  want  that  in  exchange  for  the  certi- 
ficate." 

"A  hard  bargain  I  It  isn't  so  much  that  I  want 
the  money — though  I  must  remark  that  in  my 
judgment  I  have  a  strong  claim  to  it;  I  would 
say  a  moral  claim  but  for  my  deference  to  your 
views,  Doctor  Mary.  But  it  isn't  mainly  that. 
I  hate  the  Radbolts  getting  it,  just  as  much  as 
the  old  man  would  have  hated  it." 

"I  have  given  you  my — my  terms,"  said  Mary. 
270 


DEAD  MAJESTY 


Beaumaroy  stood  looking  down  at  her,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets.  His  face  was  twisted  in 
a  humorous  disgust.  Mary  laughed  gently.  "It 
is  possible  to — to  keep  the  rules  without  being 
a  prig,  you  know,  though  I  believe  you  think  it 
isn't." 

"Including  the  sack  in  the  water-butt?  My 
sack,  the  sack  I  rescued?" 

"Including  the  sack  in  the  water-butt.  Yes, 
every  single  sovereign!"  Though  Mary  was  pur- 
suing the  high  moral  line,  there  was  now  more 
mischief  than  gravity  in  her  demeanor. 

"Well,  I'll  do  it!"  He  evidently  spoke  with 
a  great  effort.  "I'll  do  it!  But,  look  here, 
Doctor  Mary,  you'll  live  to  be  sorry  you  made 
me  do  it.  Oh,  I  don't  mean  that  that  conscience 
of  yours  will  be  sorry.  That'll  approve,  no 
doubt,  being  the  extremely  conventionalized 
thing  it  is.  But  you  yourself,  you'll  be  sorry,  or 
I'm  much  mistaken  in  the  Radbolts." 

"It  isn't  a  question  of  the  Radbolts,"  she  in- 
sisted, laughing. 

271 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

•.3 

"Oh  yes,  it  is,  and  you'll  come  to  feel  it  so." 
Beaumaroy  was  equally  obstinate. 

Mary  rose.  "Then  that's  settled,  and  we 
needn't  keep  Captain  Alec  waiting  any  longer." 

"How  do  you  know  that  I  sha'n't  cheat  you?" 
he  asked. 

"I  don't  know  how  I  know  that,"  Mary  ad- 
mitted. "But  I  do  know  it.  And  I  want  to 
tell  you " 

She  suddenly  felt  embarrassed  under  his  gaze ; 
her  cheeks  flushed,  but  she  went  on  resolutely: 

"To  tell  you  how  glad,  how  happy,  I  am  that 
it  all  ends  like  this;  that  the  poor  old  man  is 
free  of  his  fancies  and  his  fears,  beyond  both 
our  pity  and  our  laughter." 

"Aye,  he's  earned  rest,  if  there  is  to  be  rest 
for  any  of  us!" 

"And  you  can  rest,  too.  And  you  can  laugh 
with  us,  and  not  at  us.  Isn't  that,  after  all,  a 
more  human  sort  of  laughter?" 

She  was  smiling  still  as  she  gave  him  her  hand, 
but  he  saw  that  tears  stood  in  her  eyes.  The 
next  instant  she  gave  a  little  sob. 

272 


DEAD  MAJESTY 


"Doctor  Mary!"  he  exclaimed  in  rueful  ex- 
postulation. 

"No,  no,  how  stupid  you  are!"  She  laughed 
through  her  sob.  "It's  not  unhappiness !"  She 
pressed  his  hand  tightly  for  an  instant  and  then 
walked  quickly  out  of  the  house,  calling  back  to 
him,  "Don't  come,  please  don't  come.  I'd  rather 
go  to  Captain  Alec  by  myself." 

Left  alone  in  the  cottage,  now  so  quiet  and 
so  peaceful,  Beaumaroy  mused  a  while  as  he 
smoked  his  pipe.  Then  he  turned  to  his  labors 
— his  final  night  of  work  in  the  Tower.  There 
was  much  to  do,  very  much  to  do;  he  achieved 
his  task  towards  morning.  When  day  dawned, 
there  was  nothing  but  water  in  the  water-butt, 
and  in  the  Tower  no  furnishings  were  visible 
save  three  chairs — a  high  carved  one  by  the  fire- 
place, and  two  much  smaller  on  the  little  plat- 
form under  the  window.  The  faded  old  red 
carpet  on  the  floor  was  the  only  attempt  at 
decoration.  And  in  still  one  thing  more  the 
Tower  was  different  from  what  it  had  been. 
Beaumaroy  contented  himself  with  pasting 

273 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

brown  paper  over  the  pane  on  which  Mike  had 
operated.  He  did  not  replace  the  matchboard- 
ing  over  the  window,  but  stowed  it  away  in  the 
coal-shed.  The  place  was  horribly  in  need  of 
sunshine  and  fresh  air — and  the  old  gentleman 
was  no  longer  alive  to  fear  the  draught ! 

When  the  undertaker  came  up  to  the  cottage 
that  afternoon,  he  glanced  from  the  parlor, 
through  the  open  door,  into  the  Tower. 

"Driving  past  on  business,  sir,"  he  remarked 
to  Beaumaroy,  "I've  often  wondered  what  the 
old  gentleman  did  with  that  there  Tower.  But 
it  looks  as  if  he  didn't  make  no  use  of  it." 

"We  sometimes  stored  things  in  it,"  said  Beau- 
maroy. "But,  as  you  see,  there's  nothing  much 
there  now." 

But  then  the  undertaker,  worthy  man,  could 
not  see  through  the  carpet,  or  through  the  lid 
of  Captain  Duggle's  grave.  That  was  full — 
fuller  than  it  had  been  at  any  period  of  its  his- 
tory. In  it  lay  the  wealth,  the  scepter,  and  the 
trappings  of  dead  Majesty.  For  wherein  did 
Mr.  Saffron's  dead  Majesty  differ  from  the  dead 
Majesty  of  other  Kings? 

274 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  CHIEF  MOURNERS 

THE  attendance  was  small  at  Mr.  Saffron's 
funeral.  Besides  meek  and  depressed  Mrs. 
Wiles,  and  Beaumaroy  himself,  Doctor  Mary 
found  herself,  rather  to  her  surprise,  in  company 
with  old  Mr.  Naylor.  On  comparing  notes  she 
discovered  that,  like  herself,  he  had  come  on 
Beaumaroy's  urgent  invitation  and,  moreover, 
that  he  was  engaged  also  to  come  on  afterwards 
to  Tower  Cottage,  where  Beaumaroy  was  to 
entertain  the  chief  mourners  at  a  mid-day  repast. 
"Glad  enough  to  show  my  respect  to  a  neigh- 
bor," said  old  Naylor.  "And  I  always  liked 
the  old  man's  looks.  But  really  I  don't  see 
why  I  should  go  to  lunch.  However,  Beau- 
maroy  " 

Mary  did  not  see  why  he  should  go  to  lunch 
— nor,  for  that  matter,  why  she  should  either, 

275 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

but  curiosity  about  the  chief  mourners  made  her 
glad  that  she  was  going.  The  chief  mourners 
did  not  look,  at  first  sight,  attractive.  Mr.  Rad- 
bolt  was  a  short  plump  man,  with  a  weaselly  face 
and  cunning  eyes;  his  wife's  eyes,  of  a  greeny 
color,  stared  stolidly  out  from  her  broad  red 
face ;  she  was  taller  than  her  mate,  and  her  figure 
contrived  to  be  at  once  stout  and  angular.  All 
through  the  service,  Beaumaroy's  gaze  was  set 
on  the  pair  as  they  sat  or  stood  in  front  of  him, 
wandering  from  the  one  to  the  other  in  an  ap- 
parently fascinated  study. 

At  the  Cottage  he  entertained  his  party  in  the 
parlor  with  a  generous  hospitality,  and  treated 
the  Radbolts  with  most  courteous  deference. 
The  man  responded  with  the  best  manners  that 
he  had — who  can  do  more?  The  woman  was 
much  less  cordial;  she  was  curt,  and  treated 
Beaumaroy  rather  as  the  servant  than  the  friend 
of  her  dead  cousin;  there  was  a  clear  suggestion 
of  suspicion  in  her  bearing  towards  him.  After 
a  broad  stare  of  astonishment  on  her  introduc- 
tion to  "Dr.  Arkroyd,"  she  took  very  little  notice 

276 


THE  CHIEF  MOURNERS 


of  Mary;  only  to  Mr.  Nay  lor  was  she  clumsily 
civil  and  even  rather  cringing;  it  was  clear  that 
in  him  she  acknowledged  the  gentleman.  He 
sat  by  her,  and  she  tried  to  insinuate  herself  into 
a  private  conversation  with  him,  apart  from  the 
others,  probing  him  as  to  his  knowledge  of  the 
dead  man  and  his  mode  of  living.  Her  questions 
hovered  persistently  round  the  point  of  Mr. 
Saffron's  expenditure. 

"Mr.  Saffron  was  not  a  friend  of  mine,"  Nay- 
lor  found  it  necessary  to  explain.  "I  had  few 
opportunities  of  observing  his  way  of  life,  even 
if  I  had  felt  any  wish  to  do  so." 

"I  suppose  Beaumaroy  knew  all  about  his 
affairs,"  she  suggested. 

"As  to  that,  I  think  you  must  ask  Mr.  Beau- 
maroy himself." 

"From  what  the  lawyers  say,  the  old  man 
seems  to  have  been  getting  rid  of  his  money, 
somehow  or  to  somebody,"  she  grumbled,  in  a 
positive  whisper. 

To  Mr.  Naylor's  intense  relief,  Beaumaroy 
interrupted  this  conversation.  "Well,  how  do 

277 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

you  like  this  little  place,  Mrs.  Radbolt?"  he  asked 
cheerfully.  "Not  a  bad  little  crib,  is  it?  Don't 
you  think  so  too,  Dr.  Arkroyd?"  Throughout 
this  gathering  Beaumaroy  was  very  punctilious 
with  his  "Dr.  Arkroyd."  One  would  have 
thought  that  Mary  and  he  were  almost  strangers. 

"Yes,  I  like  it,"  said  Mary.  "The  Tower 
makes  it  rather  unusual  and  picturesque."  This 
was  not  really  her  sincere  opinion;  she  was  play- 
ing up  to  Beaumaroy,  convinced  that  he  had 
opened  some  conversational  maneuver. 

"Don't  like  it  at  all,"  answered  Mrs.  Radbolt. 
"We'll  get  rid  of  it  as  soon  as  we  can,  won't  we, 
Radbolt?"  She  always  addressed  her  husband 
as  "Radbolt." 

"Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  don't  throw  it  away," 
Beaumaroy  advised.  "It's  not  everybody's 
choice,  of  course,  but  there  are  quarters — yes, 
more  than  one  quarter — in  which  you  might  get 
a  very  good  offer  for  this  place."  His  eye 
caught  Mary's  for  a  moment.  "Indeed  I  wish 
I  was  in  a  position  to  make  you  one  myself.  I 
should  like  to  take  it  as  it  stands — lock,  stock  and 

278 


THE  CHIEF  MOURNERS 


barrel.  But  I've  sunk  all  I  had  in  another 
venture — hope  it  turns  out  a  satisfactory  one  I 
So  I'm  not  in  a  position  to  do  it.  If  Mrs.  Rad- 
bolt  wants  to  sell,  what  would  you  think  of  it, 
Dr.  Arkroyd,  as  a  speculation?" 

Mary  shook  her  head,  smiling,  glad  to  be  able 
to  smile  with  plausible  reason.  "I'm  not  as  fond 
of  rash  speculations  as  you  are,  Mr.  Beaumaroy." 

"It  may  be  worth  more  than  it  looks,"  he  pur- 
sued. "Good  neighborhood,  healthy  air,  fruitful 
soil,  very  rich  soil  hereabouts." 

"My  dear  Beaumaroy,  the  land  about  here  is 
abominable,"  Naylor  expostulated. 

"Perhaps  generally,  but  some  rich  pockets — 
one  may  call  pockets,"  corrected  Beaumaroy. 

"I'm  not  an  agriculturist,"  remarked  weaselly 
Mr.  Radbolt,  in  his  oily  tones. 

"And  then  there's  a  picturesque  old  yarn  told 
about  it — oh,  whether  it's  true  or  not,  of  course 
I  don't  know.  It's  about  a  certain  Captain 
Duggle — not  the  Army — the  Mercantile  Marine, 
Mrs.  Radbolt.  You  know  the  story  Dr.  Ark- 
royd? And  you  too,  Mr.  Naylor?  .You're  the 

279 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

oldest  inhabitant  of  Inkston  present,  sir.  Sup- 
pose you  tell  it  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Radbolt?  I'm 
sure  it  will  make  them  attach  a  new  value  to 
this  really  very  attractive  cottage — with,  as  Dr. 
Arkroyd  says,  the  additional  feature  of  the 
Tower." 

"I  know  the  story  only  as  a  friend  of  mine — 
Mr.  Penrose — who  takes  great  interest  in  local 
records  and  traditions,  told  it  to  me.  If  our  host 
desires,  I  shall  be  happy  to  tell  it  to  Mrs.  Rad- 
bolt." Mr.  Naylor  accompanied  his  words  with 
a  courtly  little  bow  to  that  lady,  and  launched 
upon  the  legend  of  Captain  Duggle. 

Mr.  Radbolt  was  a  religious  man.  At  the  end 
of  the  story  he  observed  gravely,  "The  belief  in 
diabolical  personalities  is  not  to  be  lightly  dis- 
missed, Mr.  Beaumaroy." 

"I'm  entirely  of  your  opinion,  Mr.  Radbolt." 
This  time  Mary  felt  that  her  smile  was  not  so 
plausible. 

"There  seems  to  have  been  nothing  in  the 
grave,"  mused  Mrs.  Radbolt. 

"Apparently  not  when  Captain  Duggle  left  it 
280 


THE  CHIEF  MOURNERS 


— if  he  was  ever  in  it — at  all  events  not  when  he 
left  the  house,  in  whatever  way  and  by  whatever 
agency." 

"As  to  the  latter  point,  I  myself  incline  to 
Penrose's  theory,"  said  Mr.  Naylor.  "Delirium 
tremens,  you  know!" 

Beaumaroy  puffed  at  his  cigar.  "Still,  I've 
often  thought  that,  though  it  was  empty  then, 
it  would  have  made — supposing  it  really  exists — 
an  excellent  hiding-place  for  anybody  who 
wanted  such  a  thing.  Say,  for  a  miser,  or  a 
man  who  had  his  reasons  for  concealing  what  he 
was  worth!  I  once  suggested  the  idea  to  Mr. 
Saffron,  and  he  was  a  good  deal  amused.  He 
patted  me  on  the  shoulder  and  laughed  heartily. 
He  wasn't  often  so  much  amused  as  that." 

A  new  look  came  into  Mrs.  Radbolt's  green 
eyes.  Up  to  now,  distrust  of  Beaumaroy  had 
predominated.  His  frank  bearing,  his  obvious 
candor  and  simplicity,  had  weakened  her  suspi- 
cions. But  his  words  suggested  something  else; 
he  might  be  a  fool,  not  a  knave;  Mr.  Saffron  had 
been  amused,  had  laughed  beyond  his  wont. 

281 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

That  might  have  seemed  the  best  way  of  putting 
Beaumaroy  off  the  scent.  The  green  eyes  were 
now  alert,  eager,  immensely  acquisitive. 

"The  grave's  in  the  Tower,  if  it's  anywhere. 
Would  you  like  to  see  the  Tower,  Mrs.  Rad- 
bolt?" 

"Yes,  I  should,"  she  answered  tartly.  "Being 
part  of  our  property  as  it  is." 

Mary  exchanged  a  glance  with  Mr.  Naylor, 
as  they  followed  the  others  into  the  Tower. 
"What  an  abominable  woman!"  her  glance  said. 
Naylor  smiled  a  despairing  acquiescence. 

The  strangers — chief  mourners,  heirs-at-law, 
owners  now  of  the  place  wherein  they  stood — 
looked  round  the  bare  brick  walls  of  the  little 
rotunda.  Naylor  examined  it  with  interest  too 
— the  old  story  was  a  quaint  one.  Mary  stood 
at  the  back  of  the  group,  smiling  triumphantly. 
How  had  he  disposed  of — everything?  She  had 
not  been  wrong  in  her  unlimited  confidence  in 
his  ingenuity.  She  did  not  falter  in  her  faith  in 
his  word  pledged  to  her. 

"Safe  from  burglars,  that  grave  of  the  Cap- 
282 


THE  CHIEF  MOURNERS 


tain's,  if  you  kept  it  properly  concealed !"  Beau- 
maroy  pursued  in  a  sort  of  humorous  meditation. 
"And  in  these  days  some  people  like  to  have  their 
money  in  their  own  hands.  Confiscatory  legis- 
lation possible,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Nay  lor?  You  know 
about  those  things  better  than  I  do.  And  then 
the  taxes — shocking,  Mr.  Radbolt!  By  Jove,  I 
knew  a  chap  the  other  day  who  came  in  for  what 
sounded  like  a  pretty  little  inheritance.  But  by 
the  time  he'd  paid  all  the  duties  and  so  on,  most 
of  the  gilt  was  off  the  gingerbread!  It's  there 
— in  front  of  the  hearth — that  the  story  says  the 
grave  is.  Doesn't  it,  Mr.  Naylor?"  A  sudden 
thought  seemed  to  strike  him  "I  say,  Mrs.  Rad- 
bolt, would  you  like  us  to  have  a  look  whether 
we  can  find  any  indications  of  it?"  His  eyes 
traveled  beyond  the  lady  whom  he  addressed. 
They  met  Mary's.  She  knew  their  message;  he 
was  taking  her  into  his  confidence  about  his  ex- 
periment with  the  chief  mourners. 

The  stout  angular  woman  had  leapt  to  her 
conclusion.  Much  less  money  than  had  been  ex- 
pected— no  signs  of  money  having  been  spent — 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

and  here,  not  the  cunning  knave  whom  she  had 
expected,  but  a  garrulous  open  fool,  giving  away 
what  was  perhaps  a  golden  secret !  Mammon,  the 
greed  of  acquisitiveness,  the  voracious  appetite 
for  getting  more,  gleamed  in  her  green  eyes. 

"There?  Do  you  say  it's — it's  supposed  to  be 
there?"  she  asked  eagerly,  with  a  shake  in  her 
voice. 

Her  husband  interposed  in  a  suave  and  sancti- 
monious voice:  "My  dear,  if  Mr.  Beaumaroy 
and  the  other  gentleman  won't  mind  my  saying 
so,  I've  been  feeling  that  these  are  rather  light 
and  frivolous  topics  for  the  day,  and  the  occa- 
sion which  brings  us  here.  The  whole  thing  is 
probably  an  unfounded  story,  although  there  is 
a  sound  moral  to  it.  Later  on,  just  as  a  matter 
of  curiosity,  if  you  like,  my  dear.  But  to-day, 
Cousin  Aloysius's  day  of  burial,  is  it  quite 
seemly?" 

The  big  woman  looked  at  her  smaller  mate  for 
just  a  moment,  a  scrutinizing  look.  Then  she 
said  with  most  unexpected  meekness,  "I  was 

284 


THE  CHIEF  MOURNERS 


wrong.  You  always  have  the  proper  feelings, 
Radbolt." 

"The  fault  was  mine,  entirely  mine,"  Beau- 
maroy  hastily  interposed.  "I  dragged  in  the  old 
yarn,  I  led  Mr.  Naylor  into  telling  it,  I  told  you 
about  what  I  said  to  Mr.  Saffron  and  how  he  took 
it.  All  my  fault!  I  acknowledge  the  justice  of 
your  rebuke.  I  apologize,  Mr.  Radbolt!  And 
I  think  that  we've  exhausted  the  interest  of  the 
Tower."  He  looked  at  his  watch.  "Er,  how  do 
you  stand  for  time?  Shall  Mrs.  Wiles  make  us 
a  cup  of  tea,  or  have  you  a  train  to  catch?" 

"That's  the  woman  in  charge  of  the  house, 
isn't  it?"  asked  Mrs.  Radbolt. 

"Comes  in  for  the  day.  She  doesn't  sleep 
here."  He  smiled  pleasantly  on  Mrs.  Radbolt. 
"To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't  think  that  she 
would  consent  to  sleep  here  by  herself.  Silly! 
But — the  old  story,  you  know !" 

"Don't  you  sleep  here?"  the  woman  persisted, 
though  her  husband  was  looking  at  her  rather 
uneasily. 

"Up  to  now  I  have,"  said  Beaumaroy.  "But 
285 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

there's  nothing  to  keep  me  here  now,  and  Mr. 
Naylor  has  kindly  offered  to  put  me  up  as  long 
as  I  stay  at  Inkston." 

"Going  to  leave  the  place  with  nobody  in  it?" 

Beaumaroy's  manner  indicated  surprise.  "Oh, 
yes!  There's  nothing  to  tempt  thieves,  is  there? 
Just  lock  the  door  and  put  the  key  in  my 
pocket!" 

The  woman  looked  very  surly,  but  flummoxed. 
Her  husband,  with  his  suave  oiliness,  came  to  her 
rescue.  "My  wife  is  always  nervous,  perhaps 
foolishly  nervous,  about  fire,  Mr.  Beaumaroy. 
Well,  with  an  old  house  like  this,  there  is  always 
the  risk." 

"Upon  my  soul,  I  hadn't  thought  of  it!  And 
I've  packed  up  all  my  things,  and  your  car's  come 
and  fetched  them,  Mr.  Naylor.  Still,  of  course 
I  could " 

"Oh,  we've  no  right,  no  claim,  to  trouble  you, 
Mr.  Beaumaroy.  Only  my  wife  is " 

"Fire's  an  obsession  with  me,  I'm  afraid,"  said 
the  stout  woman,  with  a  rumbling  giggle.  The 

286 


THE  CHIEF  MOURNERS 


sound  of  her  mirth  was  intolerably  disagreeable 
to  Mary. 

"I  really  think,  my  dear,  that  you'll  feel  easier 
if  I  stay  myself,  won't  you?  You  can  send  me 
what  I  want  to-morrow,  and  rejoin  me  when 
we  arrange — because  we  shall  have  to  settle 
what's  to  be  done  with  the  place." 

"As  you  please,  Mr.  Radbolt."  Beaumaroy's 
tone  was,  for  the  first  time,  a  little  curt.  It 
hinted  some  slight  offense — as  though  he  felt 
himself  charged  with  carelessness,  and  considered 
Mrs.  Radbolt's  obsession  mere  fussiness.  "No 
doubt,  if  you  stay,  Mrs.  Wiles  will  agree  to 
stay  too,  and  do  her  best  to  make  you  com- 
fortable." 

"I  shall  feel  easier  that  way,  Radbolt,"  Mrs. 
Radbolt  admitted,  with  another  rumble  of 
apologetic  mirth. 

Beaumaroy  motioned  his  guests  Back  to  the 
parlor.  His  manner  retained  its  shade  of  dis- 
tance and  offense.  "Then  it  really  only  remains 
for  me  to  wish  you  good-bye — and  all  happiness 
in  your  new  property.  Any  information  in 

287 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

possession  as  to  Mr.  Saffron's  affairs  I  shall,  of 
course,  be  happy  to  give  you.  Is  the  car  coming 
for  you,  Mr.  Naylor?" 

"I  thought  it  would  be  pleasant  to  walk  back; 
and  I  hope  Doctor  Mary  will  come  with  us  and 
have  some  tea.  I'll  send  you  home  afterwards, 
Doctor  Mary." 

Farewells  were  exchanged,  but  now  without 
even  a  show  of  cordiality.  Naylor  and  Doctor 
Mary  felt  too  much  distaste  for  the  chief  mourners 
to  attain  more  than  a  cold  civility.  Beaumaroy 
did  not  relax  into  his  earlier  friendliness.  His 
apparent  dislike  to  her  husband's  plan  of  stay- 
ing at  the  Cottage  roused  Mrs.  Radbolt's  suspi- 
cions again;  was  he  a  rogue  after  all,  but  a  very 
plausible,  a  very  deep  one?  Only  Mr.  Radbolt's 
unctuousness — surely  it  would  have  smoothed 
the  stormiest  waves — saved  the  social  situation. 

"Intelligent  people,  I  thought,"  Beaumaroy 
observed,  as  the  three  friends  pursued  their  way 
across  the  heath  towards  Old  Place.  "Didn't 
you,  Mr.  Naylor?" 

Old  Naylor  grunted.  With  a  twinkle  in  his 
288 


THE  CHIEF  MOURNERS 


eyes,  Beaumaroy  tried  Doctor  Mary.     "What 
was  your  impression  of  them?" 

"Oh!"  moaned  Mary,  with  a  deep  and  ex- 
pressive note.  "But  how  did  you  know  they'd 
be  like  that?" 

"Letters,  and  the  old  man's  description ,  he  had 
a  considerable  command  of  language,  and  very 
violent  likes  and  dislikes.  I  made  a  picture  of 
them — and  it's  turned  out  pretty  accurate." 

"And  those  were  the  nearest  kith  and  kin  your 
poor  old  man  had?"  Naylor  shook  his  head 
sadly.  "The  woman  obviously  cared  not  a  straw 
about  anything  but  handling  his  money — and 
couldn't  even  hide  it!  A  gross  and  horrible 
female,  Beaumaroy!" 

"Were  you  really  hurt  about  their  insisting  on 
staying?"  asked  Mary. 

"Oh,  come,  you're  sharper  than  that,  Doctor 
Mary!  Still,  I  think  I  did  it  pretty  well.  I  set 
the  old  girl  thinking  again,  didn't  I?"  He  broke 
into  laughter,  and  Mary  joined  in  heartily.  Old 
Naylor  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  with  an 
air  of  curiosity. 

289 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

"You  two  people  look  to  me — somehow — as 
if  you'd  got  a  secret  between  you." 

"Perhaps  we  have!  Mr.  Naylor's  a  man  of 
honor,  Doctor  Mary;  a  man  who  appreciates  a 
situation,  a  man  you  can  trust."  Beaumaroy 
seemeu  very  gay  and  happy  now,  disembarrassed 
oi  a  load,  and  buoyant  alike  in  walk  and  in  spirit. 
"What  do  you  say  to  letting  Mr.  Naylor — just 
him — nobody  else — into  our  secret?" 

Mary  put  her  arms  through  old  Mr.  Naylor's. 
"I  don't  mind,  if  you  don't.  But  nobody  else!" 

"Then  you  shall  tell  him — the  entire  story — 
at  your  leisure.  Meanwhile  I'll  begin  at  the 
wrong  end.  I  told  you  I'd  made  a  picture  of 
the  hated  cousins,  of  the  heirs-at-law,  those  sor- 
rowing chief  mourners.  Well,  having  made  a 
picture  of  them  that's  proved  true,  I'll  make  a 
prophecy  about  them,  and  I'll  bet  you  it  proves 
just  as  true." 

"Go  on,"  said  Mary.  "Listen,  Mr.  Naylor," 
she  added  with  a  squeeze  of  the  old  man's  arm. 

"You're  like  a  couple  of  naughty  children!"  he 
said,  with  an  affectionate  look  and  laugh. 

290 


THE  CHIEF  MOURNERS 


"Well,  my  prophecy  is  that  they'll  swear  the 
poor  dear  old  man's  estate  at  under  five  thou- 
sand." 

"Well,  why  shouldn't "  old  Naylor  began; 

but  he  stopped  as  he  saw  Mary's  eyes  meet 
Beaumaroy's  in  a  rapture  of  quick  and  delighted 
understanding. 

"And  then  perhaps  you'll  own  to  being  sorry, 
Doctor  Mary!" 

"So  that's  what  you  were  up  to,  was  it?"  said 
Marjr. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  GOLD  AND  THE  TREASURE 

OLD  Mr.  Naylor  called  on  Mary  two  or  three 
days  later — at  an  hour  when,  as  he  well  knew, 
Cynthia  was  at  his  own  house — in  order  to  hear 
the  story,  ^here  were  parts  of  it  which  she 
could  not  describe  fully  for  lack  of  knowledge — 
the  enterprise  of  Mike  and  Big  Neddy,  for 
example;  but  all  that  she  knew  she  told  frankly, 
and  did  not  scruple  to  invoke  her  imagination 
to  paint  Beaumaroy's  position,  with  its  difficul- 
ties, demands,  obligations — and  temptations. 
He  heard  her  with  close  attention,  evidently 
amused,  and  watching  her  animated  face  with  a 
keen  and  watchful  pleasure. 

"Surprising!"  he  said  at  the  end,  rubbing  his 
hands  together.  "That's  to  say,  not  in  itself 
particularly  surprising.  Just  a  queer  little  hap- 
pening; one  would  think  nothing  of  it  if  one 
read  it  in  the  newspaper!  Things  are  always  so 

292 


THE  GOLD  AND  THE   TREASURE 

much  more  surprising  when  they  happen  down 
one's  own  street,  or  within  a  few  minutes'  walk 
of  one's  garden  wall — and  when  one  actually 
knows  the  people  involved  in  them.  Still  I  was 
always  inclined  to  agree  with  Dr.  Irechester  that 
there  was  something  out  of  the  common  about 
old  Saffron  and  our  friend  Beaumaroy." 

"Dr.  Irechester  never  found  out  what  it  was, 
though!"  exclaimed  Mary  triumphantly. 

"No,  he  didn't;  for  reasons  pretty  clearly  in- 
dicated in  your  narrative."  He  sat  back  in  his 
chair,  his  elbows  on  the  arms  and  his  hands 
clasped  before  him.  "If  I  may  say  so,  the  really 
curious  thing  is  to  find  you  in  the  thick  of  it, 
Doctor  Mary." 

"That  wasn't  my  fault.  I  couldn't  refuse  to 
attend  Mr.  Saffron.  Dr.  Irechester  himself 
said  so." 

He  paid  no  heed  to  her  protest.  "In  the  thick 
of  it — and  enjoying  it  so  tremendously!" 

Mary  looked  thoughtful.  "I  didn't  at  first. 
I  was  angry,  indignant,  suspicious.  I  thought 
I  was  being  made  a  fool  of." 

293 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

"So  you  were — a  fool  and  a  tool,  my  dear!" 

"But  that  night — because  it  all  really  hap- 
pened in  just  one  night — the  chief  mourners,  as 
Mr.  Beaumaroy  always  calls  them,  were  more 
than " 

"Just  a  rather  amusing  epilogue — yes,  that's 
all." 

"That  night,  it  did  get  hold  of  me."  She 
laughed  a  little  nervously,  a  little  uneasily. 

"And  now  you  tell  it  to  me — I  must  say  that 
your  telling  made  it  twice  the  story  that  it  really 
is — now  you  tell  it  as  if  it  were  the  greatest 
thing  that  ever  happened  to  you!" 

For  a  moment  Mary  fenced.  "Well,  nothing 
interesting  ever  has  happened  in  my  humdrum 
life  before."  But  old  Naylor  pursed  up  his  lips 
in  contempt  of  her  fencing.  "It  did  seem  to 
me  a  great — a  great  experience.  Not  the  bur- 
glars and  all  that — though  some  of  the  things,  like 
the  water-butt,  did  amuse  me  very  much — but 
our  being  apart  from  all  Ihe  world,  there  by  our- 
selves, against  the  whole  world  in  a  way,  Mr. 
Naylor." 

294 


THE  GOLD  AND  THE  TREASURE 

"The  law  on  one  side,  the  robbers  on  the  other, 
and  you  two  alone  together!" 

"Yes,  you  understand.  That  was  the  way  I 
felt  it.  But  we  weren't  together,  not  in  every 
way.  I  mean,  we  were  fighting  between  our- 
selves too,  right  up  to  the  very  end."  She  gave 
another  low  laugh.  "I  suppose  we're  fighting 
still;  he  means  to  face  me  with  some  Radbolt 
villainy,  and  make  me  sorry  for  what  he  calls  my 
legalism — with  an  epithet!" 

"That's  his  idea,  and  my  own  too,  I  confess. 
Those  chief  mourners  will  find  the  money — and 
some  other  things  that'll  make  'em  stare.  But 
they'll  lie  low;  they'll  sit  on  the  cash  till  the  time 
comes  when  it's  safe  to  dispose  of  it ;  and  they'll 
bilk  the  Inland  Revenue  out  of  the  duties.  The 
remarkable  thing  is  that  Beaumaroy  seems  to 
want  them  to  do  it." 

"That's  to  make  me  sorry;  that's  to  prove  me 
wrong,  Mr.  Naylor." 

"It  may  make  you  sorry,  it  makes  me  sorry, 
for  that  matter;  but  it  doesn't  prove  you  wrong. 
You  were  right.  My  boy  Alec  would  have  taken 

295 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

the  same  line  as  you  did.  Now  you  needn't 
laugh  at  me,  Mary.  I  own  up  at  once ;  that's  my 
highest  praise." 

"I  know  it  is;  and  it  implies  a  contrast?" 

Old  Naylor  unclasped  his  hands  and  spread 
them  in  a  deprecatory  gesture.  "It  must  do 
that,"  he  acknowledged. 

Mary  gave  a  rebellious  little  toss  of  her  head. 
"I  don't  care  if  it  does,  Mr.  Naylor!  Mr.  Beau- 
maroy  is  my  friend  now." 

"And  mine.  Moreover  I  have  such  confidence 
in  his  honor  and  fidelity  that  I  have  offered  him 
a  rather  important  and  confidential  position  in 
my  business — to  represent  us  at  one  of  the 
foreign  ports  where  we  have  considerable  inter- 
ests." He  smiled.  "It's  the  sort  of  place  where 
he  will  perhaps  find  himself  less  trammelled  by 
— er — legalism,  and  with  more  opportunities  for 
his  undoubted  gift  of  initiative." 

"Will  he  accept  your  offer?  Will  he  go?"  she 
asked  rather  excitedly. 

"Without  doubt,  I  think.  It's  really  quite  a 
296 


THE  GOLD  AND  THE  TREASURE 

good  offer.  And  what  prospects  has  he  now,  or 
here?" 

Mary  stretched  her  hands  towards  the  fire  and 
gazed  into  it  in  silence. 

"I  think  you'll  have  an  offer  soon  too,  and 
a  good  one,  Doctor  Mary.  Irechester  was  over 
at  our  place  yesterday.  He's  still  of  opinion 
that  there  was  something  queer  at  Tower  Cot- 
tage. Indeed  he  thinks  that  Mr.  Saffron  was 
queer  himself,  in  his  head,  and  that  a  clever 
doctor  would  have  found  it  out." 

"That  he  himself  would,  if  he'd  gone  on  at- 
tending  " 

"Precisely.  But  he's  not  surprised  that  you 
didn't ;  you  lacked  the  experience.  Still  he  thinks 
none  the  worse  of  you  for  that,  and  he  told  me 
that  he  has  made  up  his  mind  to  offer  you  part- 
nership. Irechester's  a  bit  stiff,  but  a  very 
straight  fellow.  You  could  rely  on  being  fairly 
treated,  and  it's  a  good  practice.  Besides  he's 
well  off,  and  quite  likely  to  retire  as  soon  as  he 
sees  you  fairly  in  the  saddle." 

"It's  a  great  compliment."  Here  Mary's  voice 
297 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

sounded  quite  straightforward  and  sincere.  An 
odd  little  note  of  contempt  crept  into  it  as  she 
added,  "And  it  sounds — ideal!" 

"Yes,  it  does,"  old  Naylor  agreed,  with  a 
private  smile  all  to  himself,  whilst  Mary  still 
gazed  into  the  fire.  "Quite  ideal.  You're  a 
lucky  young  woman,  Mary."  He  rose  to  take 
his  leave.  "So,  with  our  young  folk  happily 
married,  and  you  installed,  and  friend  Beau- 
maroy  suited  to  his  liking — why,  upon  my  word, 
we  may  ring  the  curtain  down  on  a  happy  end- 
ing— of  Act  I,  at  all  events!" 

She  seemed  to  pay  no  heed  to  his  words.  He 
stood  for  a  moment,  admiring  her;  not  as  a 
beauty,  but  a  healthy  comely  young  woman, 
stout-hearted,  and  with  humanity  and  a  sense  of 
fun  in  her.  And,  as  he  looked,  his  true  feeling 
about  the  situation  suddenly  burst  through  all 
restraint  and  leapt  from  his  lips.  "Though,  for 
my  part,  under  the  circumstances,  if  I  were  you, 
I'd  see  old  Irechester  damned  before  I  accepted 
the  partnership!" 

She  turned  to  him — startled,  yet  suddenly 
298 


THE  GOLD  AND  THE  TREASURE 

smiling.  He  took  her  hand  and  raised  it  to  his 
lips. 

"Hush!  Not  another  word!  Good-bye,  my 
dear  Mary!'* 

The  next  day,  as  Mary,  her  morning  round 
finished,  sat  at  lunch  with  Cynthia,  listening,  or 
not  listening,  to  her  friend's  excusably,  eager 
chatter  about  her  approaching  wedding,  a  note 
was  delivered  into  her  hands: 

The  C,  M.'s  are  in  a  hurry!  She's  back!  The  window 
is  boarded  up  again !  Come  and  see !  About  4  o'clock  this 
afternoon.  B. 

Mary  kept  the  appointment.  She  found 
Beaumaroy  strolling  up  and  down  on  the  road 
in  front  of  the  cottage.  The  Tower  window 
was  boarded  up  again,  but  with  new  strong 
planks,  in  a  much  more  solid  and  workmanlike 
fashion.  If  he  were  to  try  again,  Mike  would 
not  find  it  «o  easy  to  negotiate,  without  making 
a  dangerous  noise  over  the  job. 

"Such  impatience — such  undisguised  rapacity 
— is  indecent  and  revolting,"  Beaumaroy  re- 

299 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

marked.  He  seemed  to  be  in  the  highest  spirits. 
"I  wonder  if  they've  opened  it  yet!" 

"They'll  see  you  prowling  about  outside,  won't 
they?" 

"I  hope  so.  Indeed  I've  no  doubt  of  it.  Mrs. 
Greeneyes  is  probably  peering  through  the 
parlor  window  at  this  minute,  and  cursing  me. 
I  like  it!  To  those  people  I  represent  law  and 
order.  If  they  can  rise  to  the  conception  of 
such  a  thing  at  all,  I  probably  embody  con- 
science. When  you  come  to  think  of  it,  it's  a 
pleasant  turn  of  events  that  I  should  come  to 
represent  law  and  order  and  conscience  to  any- 
body, even  to  the  Radbolts." 

"It  is  rather  a  change,"  she  agreed.  "But  let's 
walk  on.  I  don't  really  much  want  to  think  of 
them." 

"That's  because  you  feel  that  you're  losing  the 
bet.  I  can't  stop  them  getting  the  money  in  the 
end,  that's  your  doing !  I  can't  stop  them  cheat- 
ing the  Revenue,  which  is  what  thej  certainly 
mean  to  do,  without  exposing  myself  to  more 
inconvenience  than  I  am  disposed  to  undergo 

300 


THE  GOLD  AND  THE  TREASURE 

in  the  cause  of  the  Revenue.  Whereas  if  I  had 
left  the  bag  in  the  water-butt — all  your  doing! 
Aren't  you  a  little  sorry?" 

"Of  course  there  is  an  aspect  of  the  case " 

she  admitted  smiling. 

"That's  enough  for  me!  You've  lost  the  bet. 
Let's  see — what  were  the  stakes,  Mary?" 

"Come,  let's  walk  on."  She  put  her  arm 
through  his.  "What  about  this  berth  that  Mr. 
Naylor's  offering  you?  At  Bogota,  isn't  it?" 

He  looked  puzzled  for  a  moment;  then  his 
mind  worked  quickly  back  to  Cynthia's  almost 
forgotten  tragedy.  He  laughed  in  enjoyment 
of  her  thrust.  "My  place  isn't  Bogota — though 
I  fancy  that  it's  rather  in  the  same  moral  lati- 
tude. You're  confusing  me  with  Captain 
Cranster!" 

"So  I  was — for  a  moment,"  said  Doctor  Mary 
demurely.  "But  what  about  the  appointment, 
anyhow?" 

"What  about  your  partnership  with  Dr.  Ire- 
chester,  if  you  come  to  that?" 

Mary  pressed  his  arm  gently,  and  they  walked 
301 


THE   SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

on  in  silence  for  a  little  while.  They  were  clear 
of  the  neighborhood  of  Tower  Cottage  now,  but 
still  a  considerable  distance  from  Old  Place ;  very- 
much  alone  together  on  the  heath,  as  they  had 
seemed  to  be  that  night — that  night  of  nights — 
at  the  cottage. 

"I  haven't  so  much  as  received  the  offer  yet; 
only  Mr.  Naylor  has  mentioned  it  to  me." 

"Still,  you'd  like  to  be  ready  with  your  answer 
when  the  offer  is  made,  wouldn't  you?"  He 
drew  suddenly  away  from  her,  and  stood  still 
on  the  road,  opposite  to  her.  His  face  lost  its 
playfulness ;  as  it  set  into  gravity,  the  lines  upon 
it  deepened,  and  his  eyes  looked  rather  sad. 
"This  is  wrong  of  me,  perhaps,  but  I  can't  help 
it.  I'm  not  going  to  talk  to  you  about  myself. 
Confessions  and  apologies  and  excuses,  and  so 
on,  aren't  in  my  line.  I  should  probably  tell 
lies  if  I  attempted  anything  of  the  sort.  You 
must  take  me  or  leave  me  on  your  own  judg- 
ment, on  your  own  feelings  about  me,  as  you've 
seen  and  known  me — not  long,  but  pretty  in- 
timately, Mary."  He  suddenly  reached  his 

302 


THE  GOLD  AND  THE  TREASURE 

hand  into  his  pocket  and  pulled  out  the  combina- 
tion knife-and-fork.  "That's  all  I've  brought 
away  of  his  from  Tower  Cottage.  And  I 
brought  it  away  as  much  for  your  sake  as  for 
his.  It  was  during  our  encounter  over  this  in- 
strument that  I  first  thought  of  you  as  a  woman, 
Mary.  And,  by  Jove,  I  believe  you  knew  it!" 

"Yes,  I  believe  I  did,"  she  answered,  her  eyes 
set  very  steadily  on  his. 

He  slipped  the  thing  back  into  his  pocket. 
"And  now  I  love  you,  and  I  want  you,  Mary." 

She  fell  into  a  sudden  agitation.  "Oh,  but 
this  doesn't  seem  for  me !  I'd  put  all  that  behind 

me !  I "  She  could  scarcely  find  words.  "I, 

I'm  just  Doctor  Mary!" 

"Lots  of  people  to  practice  on — bodies  and 
souls  too,  in  the  moral  latitude  I'm  going  to!" 

Her  body  seemed  to  shiver  a  little,  as  though 
before  a  plunge  into  deep  water.  "I'm  very; 
safe  here,"  she  whispered. 

"Yes,  you're  safe  here,"  he  acknowledged 
gravely,  and  stood  silent,  waiting  for  her  choice. 

"What  a  decision  to  have  to  make!"  she  cried 
303 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  TOWER 

suddenly.  "It's  all  my  life  in  a  moment!  Be- 
cause I  don't  want  you  to  go  away  from  me!" 
She  drew  near  to  him,  and  put  her  hands  on 
his  shoulders.  "I'm  not  a  child,  like  Cynthia. 
I  can't  dream  dreams  and  make  idols  any  more. 
I  think  I  see  you  as  you  are,  and  I  don't  know 
whether  your  love  is  a  good  thing."  She  paused, 
searching  his  eyes  with  hers  very  earnestly.  Then 
she  went  on,  "But  if  it  isn't,  I  think  there's  no 
good  thing  left  for  me  at  all." 

"Mary,  isn't  that  your  answer  to  me?" 
"Yes."  Her  arms  fell  from  his  shoulders,  and 
she  stood  opposite  to  him,  in  silence  again  for 
a  moment.  Then  her  troubled  face  cleared  to 
a  calm  serenity.  "And  now  I  set  doubts  and 
fears  behind  me.  I  come  to  you  in  faith,  and 
loyalty,  and  love.  I'm  not  a  missionary  to  you, 
or  a  reformer,  God  forbid!  I'm  just  the  woman 
who  loves  you,  Hector." 

"I  should  have  mocked  at  the  missionary,  and 
tricked  the  reformer."  He  bared  his  head  be- 
fore her.  "But  by  the  woman  who  loves  me  and 

304 


THE  GOLD  AND  THE  TREASURE 

whom  I  love,  I  will  deal  faithfully."  He  bent 
and  kissed  her  forehead. 

"And  now,  let's  walk  on.  No,  not  to  old 
Place — back  home,  past  Tower  Cottage." 

She  put  her  arm  through  his  again,  and  they 
set  out  through  the  soft  dusk  that  had  begun 
to  hover  about  them.  So  they  came  to  the  cot- 
tage, and  here,  for  a  while,  instinctively  stayed 
their  steps.  A  light  shone  in  the  parlor  window; 
the  Tower  was  dark  and  still.  Mary  turned  her 
face  to  Beaumaroy's  with  a  sudden  smile  of 
scornful  gladness. 

"Aye,  aye,  you're  right!"  His  smile  answered 
hers.  "Poor  devils!  I'm  sorry;  for  them,  upon 
my  soul  I  am!" 

"That  really  is  just  like  you!"  she  exclaimed 
in  mirthful  exasperation.  "Sorry  for  the  Rad- 
bolts  now,  are  you?" 

"Well,  after  all,  they've  only  got  the  gold. 
We've  got  the  treasure,  Mary!" 

(2) 
THE  END. 


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